


this could all go so wrong

by Chex (provetheworst)



Category: One Direction (Band), Radio 1 RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M, New York City
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-27
Updated: 2013-04-27
Packaged: 2017-12-09 14:48:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/775438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/provetheworst/pseuds/Chex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>harry's life is a bit of a mess, then he meets nick. au where everyone lives in new york and harry and zayn are art students, because shut up, that's why.</p>
            </blockquote>





	this could all go so wrong

Harry eyes Zayn with suspicion. “Malik.”

“Styles.” Zayn sighs, lying back and looking up at the sky. The two of them are out on the roof. It was Harry’s idea to crawl out the window and lie up here, because Zayn was freaking out a little inside and Harry didn’t want to go home just yet. “What?”

“S’cold out here,” Harry says. His coat is still inside somewhere, flung over someone’s sofa. He doesn’t actually know who this apartment belongs to, nor is he wholly sure how they got here, down on the Lower East Side at 3 in the morning. Neither of them lives anywhere close to here. Getting home on the L train is going to be one of the greatest adventures Harry has ever undertaken, he’s pretty sure.

“Yeah.”

Zayn hasn’t been any fun at all tonight, is the worst part. Usually Zayn’s a good time, only Harry’d forgotten that Liam had just left on tour, and Zayn is always at his worst the first week after Liam leaves.

His quiet, withdrawn spells wear on Harry’s nerves sometimes, but he doesn’t want to be mean about it. Instead, he tips back the bottle of Jack he’d stolen from the kitchen, takes a long drink and then passes it to Zayn.

Zayn drinks a lot more of it than Harry had.

“You going to mope all night?” Harry asks. “We have to go home already?”

“We can just stay out here.” Zayn sounds wistful. “Watch the sunrise. I don’t trust … windows.”

“You’re drunk.”

Zayn makes a vague noise, at that. Harry leans over him, to smell his breath.

“Really drunk.”

“Yeah.” Zayn sighs. He sort of reeks, actually, of cigarette smoke and cheap liquor, and he looks up at Harry sort of desperately sad and lonely. “Harry -”

“Zayn, c’mon,” Harry starts, because he really should probably take Zayn home now. Instead of letting him finish, Zayn kisses him. Even though Harry knows better, he goes along with it, because he’s a little drunk, too, and feeling awfully lonely himself even though he’s got no reason for it. He hooked up with a girl just last night, and she’d been lovely and he fully intends on seeing her again.

For someone as pissed as he is, Zayn’s a good kisser, though, and Harry rolls in a little closer. It’s only when he makes a little pleased sound that Zayn jerks away.

“Ah, fuck,” Zayn says. “Fuck, fuck, that didn’t - I didn’t -”

“You’re drunk,” Harry repeats, feeling a stab of guilt all of a sudden. He should have discouraged that, probably. He’s at least a little more sober than Zayn is. At least they hadn’t done anything but kiss, lying out here alone on the roof.

“I’m going to get a cab back home.”

“You can afford that?” Harry asks, brow furrowing a little in concern. Neither of them is made of money. Turns out coming to school in the States is bloody expensive, and cost of living in New York isn’t much better. At least food’s cheaper than London, not that Harry would know particularly well. He intends to move there at some point, after he finishes university, but he’s got a few years left here first.

“Don’t care,” Zayn says, clamoring back through the window and vanishing through the crowd before Harry can pull together a proper reaction.

Harry feels a bit like he’s moving in slow motion. He goes back inside, and means to leave, really, but then someone offers him weed and he ends up sat on the couch listening to this curly-headed bloke with glasses talk on and on about how much he loves coming down to SoHo until a girl, her hair dyed a bright orange, reminds him they’re not in SoHo.

“I know! That’s the problem, kids these days,” the man’s saying. Harry laughs. They’re sitting with their legs pressed together, and Harry keeps leaning in closer and closer to listen. The man pats Harry’s leg. “Like this kid. I bet he’s never even been to SoHo.”

“It’s a few blocks away. ‘Course I’ve been.” Harry pouts, feeling a little defensive.

“You’re English! Look at you. Look at this darling soul.”

“English and really high,” Harry admits.

“God, Nick, not again,” the girl says. “Let him alone. He’s practically a baby.”

“I’m not doing anything,” Nick says. Harry sort of likes that name. One syllable, easy to say. It’s very snappy.

“Your name’s snappy,” Harry tells him. “Nick. Niiiick. Nih-ckuh.” He tries to drag it into two syllables, only somewhat successful, then starts laughing when he realizes how stupid he’s being. “Fuck, sorry.” 

“Are you all right?” the girl asks.

“I’m fine. Dunno how I’m getting home, though.”

The girl looks to Nick. “No.”

“I didn’t say anything! I feel wronged. You’ve wronged me just now, Aimee. I’m wounded.”

Aimee shakes her head, with a weary sigh. “I know you, is all. I know your ways. Hey, kid. You ever thought of modeling?”

Harry squints at her. “What? No.”

“You’re safe then,” she declares. “Nick, do what you must.”

“That’s low,” Nick says. The two of them keep bickering for a while, and Harry stops listening, more focused on the tenor and tone of Nick’s voice than on whatever words he’s using.

The two of them keep talking. And talking. And they talk some more.

Finally, Harry says, “Do you know where I could get a new tattoo?”

Nick stares at him. “While you’re wasted at four in the morning?”

“Yeah,” Harry says, slowly. “While that’s me.”

“No,” Nick says. “All right, fine - and Aimee, shut up - I’m going to get you home, teacup.”

Harry squints at him. “You call me a teacup?”

“Yes,” Nick says, then gets up and drags Harry to his feet as well. Harry falls against him, unsteady on his feet. “You’re a teacup. Now, where d’you live, dear child?”

“I live … in … Cheshire. Hoooolmes Chapel, Nick. Where are you from? You’re Nick. You’re from my country.”

“Fuck,” Nick says, laughing.

Harry doesn’t remember much after that. The next day, he doesn’t remember much before that, either.

-

He wakes up on someone’s couch. It’s too bright and too loud - purely from traffic outside - and Harry hates everything. Though he has no idea where the bathroom is, someone’s been courteous enough to leave a bucket next to the sofa, and he rolls over and throws up into it.

Usually, Harry doesn’t get hangovers. He’s counted himself quite lucky on that front until now, only probably mixing alcohol and then smoking hadn’t helped him. His throat hurts. His head hurts. 

His everything hurts, and he has no idea where he is.

“Ah, you’re awake! Good morning, sunshine! I see you found the sick bucket.”

“The hell are you?” Harry asks around a yawn.

“Nick. You quite liked my name last night. Look, I couldn’t have just left you at that party. Tried getting you home, but that’s in Holmes Chapel, apparently, and I wasn’t about to get you a ticket back there.”

“Cheers,” Harry says. “You talk too much.”

Nick shrugs. “You want some toast?”

“Yeah, all right,” Harry decides. That’s how he ends up sitting around at a stranger’s house on a Sunday morning, eating toast and drinking the first decent cup of tea he’s had since he came to America that he didn’t make himself.

Somehow Zayn’s never learned how to make a proper cup. Harry needs to fix that, just for mornings like these, because his roommate being unable to make tea is a crying shame, and it must be tragic for Liam, too.

If Liam’s still going to be coming around. Harry does remember that part of the night quite vividly - the part where he kissed Zayn, that is. Or where Zayn kissed him, to be more accurate. It’s in the past now, at least. 

“You going to be able to get home all right?”

“Yeah,” Harry says. He rubs at his eye for a moment. “Yeah, sorry. Thanks for putting me up.”

“Couldn’t leave a fellow expat alone to have dicks drawn all over his face, now, could I?”

Harry smiles just as brightly as he can.

-

Zayn’s not at the apartment when Harry gets back, so Harry has no idea where he’s gone. There’s no sign he’s returned at all since the party last night, though he could have and just not left any clues, Harry supposes. Harry decides it’s a good thing he decided against becoming a detective.

That had been his dream job ages five through six. He got over it, and all the better for it, because he doubts studying to be a detective would have sent him overseas. Technically he could have taken his degree in the UK - London or Manchester or wherever, or even someplace in Europe, but New York City had beckoned and Harry loathes passing up a good opportunity.

The New York music scene is a whole new beast to explore and get lost in, too. Coming here, he’s branched out in around a million different directions and his poor record collection has absolutely exploded. At some point, he ended up with a tape collection, too, and spent three months unable to listen to it before he bought a tape deck at home.

There’s tape players at the studios at school, but Harry thought it might be a little weird to book recording time - time that other students could use to actually record - just to listen to something by a band he barely remembers listening to from a show he went to completely wasted in someone’s loft.

Harry loves New York, and his record collection and his tapes and his tiny little apartment out in Brooklyn, and he loves his roommate and he loves just about everything except how he’s still hungover right now.

Harry’s obligations for the day weigh down on him and he doesn’t want to do any of them. He wants to lie in bed and pity himself for a few hours, or days, really.

Instead of running errands or cleaning the apartment, he takes a nap, which ends up wasting half the day, and suddenly it’s five and he needs to get dinner and then hoof it all the way to Queens for a show he promised his not-really-girlfriend he’d be at.

Taylor’s all right. She’s fun and pretty and American and plays the guitar, and Harry likes her all right, just doesn’t quite want to commit to anything right now. Not with anyone, honestly, let alone her.

The ride alone on the J train is interminable, then he has to transfer to a bus, then walk for ages. Harry hates Queens, and he hates that Taylor is playing a show out here, and he’s actually quite grumpy, all things considered, because after her show at this little coffee shop in bloody Queens he has to get back to Manhattan and that’s going to take about six years, Harry is pretty sure.

“Harry!” Taylor shouts, waving him over when he finally gets there. She’s not played yet, luckily. There’s some other guy with a guitar sitting in the corner of the guitar, playing to all of five people who are only sort of listening; the rest of the patrons are studiously ignoring him. “You made it! I was getting worried.”

“I made it,” Harry agrees, laughing, shuffling his way over to her with his head down and his hands in his pockets. He only takes them out when she opens her arms for a huge. Harry’s never been one to turn down a hug, and it turns into an opportunity to kiss her, too, pull her close for a minute then back off grinning at her. “Queens, Taylor? Really?”

“I have to start somewhere,” Taylor tells him, very seriously, as if this is going to be her big break.

“I hear Manhattan’s nice this time of year. Even Brooklyn.” Harry laughs. “What’s next, you’re going to play Long Island?”

“There are a lot of really good bands from Long Island,” Taylor says. She’s a little defensive, sometimes, of her choice to move to New York in the first place.

“Like what?”

“Taking Back Sunday.”

“You listen to Taking Back Sunday,” Harry says. “Really? You? Honestly?”

“No,” she admits, sheepish. “But one of my friends is practically obsessed with them.”

Harry sits through her whole show, then they sneak back to the bathrooms. She’s only a little shorter than him but still just slight enough that even Harry can hoist her up, press her against the wall. He can tug her skirt aside, shift her underwear out of the way and fuck her just like that, his head tucked against her neck, with her panting raggedly in his ear, nails digging into his back even through his shirt.

It all feels a bit cliche, is all. Harry should call it off, at some point, he’s pretty sure, or else he’s even closer to being a terrible person than he wants to admit.

He gets her off, then it’s out the door, both of them holding hands and laughing as they run out of the shop like they’re making a daring getaway even though no one caught on to what they were doing.

Then it’s a fucking hour to get to this stupid party Harry has to go to, and he still hasn’t heard from Zayn all day and he’s starting to get a little worried, so he texts to ask if Zayn is all right and Zayn doesn’t answer.

Harry sighs, leaning back against the seat. This far out, at least, it was easy to find a spot to sit. It’ll get crowded the closer they get to actual civilization, he knows.

He texts Liam, finally, says, Zayn’s missing, make sure he’s ok? x because if anyone can get a reply out of Zayn, it’s Liam.

Of course, Liam doesn’t answer either. Whatever. Harry’s over it. He’s over everything, he decides.

He’s going to go to this stupid party, get wasted, fuck someone who isn’t Taylor and then break up with her - not that they’re even really dating, so he could just ditch her entirely, but again, he’s trying not to be a shitty person - and he’s going to just forget the past two days.

-

The party’s fun. There aren’t a lot of people Harry actually knows, but there are a few he half-recognizes from other parties, so he starts talking to them, and that’s how he ends up going from the first party, to a second and then a third.

Which is how he runs into Nick again, at half two in the morning, already pretty wasted.

“It’s Nick!” he points out to his new friend, who raises her eyebrows, and Harry lowers his voice. “Nick saved me. He’s a superhero. You ever met a superhero before?”

“Noo,” she says, laughing. Harry thinks she may be from California. “What’s his superpower?”

“I don’t know,” Harry sighs. “But look at him. He’s northern.”

“Northern what?”

“I’m gonna tell him thanks,” Harry decides, trotting over that way. He tugs at Nick’s arm.

Nick peers at him curiously, distracted from the conversation he’s in the middle of. “Oh, hello, teacup.”

“Name’s Harry,” Harry tells him importantly. “You sure you’ve never heard of me?”

“Quite sure. Sorry, Harry.” Nick laughs. “You’re a lot better off than last night. Don’t tell me you need me to get you home again; think it’s getting a little weird at this point.”

“No, no, I’m all right. Home’s not that far, anyway.” Harry waves a hand in the air, giggling. He’s in a better mood, now, having hopped across Manhattan like he owns the place. “I’m on a - a reconnaissance mission. I have a question for you.”

“You a spy, then? A proper James Bond type?”

Harry purses his lips and nods, very seriously. “None other. Double Oh Styles, right here.”

“What’s your question then?” Nick asks, turning more toward Harry. He’s got a drink in one hand; the other comes off his friend’s shoulder and he hooks one thumb through his belt loop.

“Why’d you help me last night?”

Nick shrugs; he turns a moment, explains to his friend - “Little Harry here was wasted last night.” He turns back to Harry. “It didn’t seem like anybody was coming to claim you, and I wasn’t sure you’d be good getting home. Didn’t want a fellow countryman vanishing in the night and getting mugged or murdered.”

“That’s nice of you,” Harry decides. “You’re nice, Nick, you know that?”

“Nick’s a bastard,” Nick’s friend - an American, who’s otherwise been quiet for this conversation - says, amused.

“I am not! My parents were happily married when I was born,” Nick says, crossing his arms a little awkwardly as he holds onto his cup, grinning wide.

“Are you in a band?” Harry asks.

Nick cracks up. “Am I what?”

His friend finds this just as funny, apparently. “Is Grimmy in a band? That would be incredible. Nick, you’re in my band now.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Nick says, uncrossing his arms just so he can shove at his friend, who laughs and shoves back. The two of them get to talking mostly in in-jokes and being catty, and Harry stands there awkwardly a moment before shuffling off, dragging his feet as he tries to sort out where his friends have gone.

He’s not actually sure what he was aiming for with that conversation. He knows nothing about Nick except that he’s not in a band and has a nice apartment, but he sort of wants to know more.

Harry finds a group he was talking to earlier, gets a new drink for himself and a few other people, and fits his way into the conversation, a little lazy about it.

They argue about Joy Division, then Harry gets tired and gets himself home. He doesn’t get mugged or murdered, though he does take the train a stop too far and has to walk a ways.

Zayn’s back; he can tell by the keys and sunglasses on the coffee table. His door’s shut, though, and all the lights are off.

Harry doesn’t bother him. Harry just settles down in bed, stares up at the ceiling and doesn’t fall asleep for a while.

-

Sunday, Harry actually has to do homework. He has a paper to finish, has to clean up a recording project to present to the class and has to get some reading done for another class. Much as he tries to pretend he’s just a layabout, he does need to keep his grades up if he wants to stay here.

Which he does, because Harry has fallen for New York City and is starting to feel like the city loves him back at least a little.

The week goes by all too fast. Zayn emerges from his room on Monday and they run to get waffles before going to class, parting ways when Harry reaches his building, a block closer than Zayn’s. 

Breakfast goes awkwardly, but Harry can’t complain. Zayn’s the one going ‘round kissing people while his boyfriend’s out of town. Harry shouldn’t have gone with it, but - it’s not his fault. They didn’t do anything other than kiss, either, which he thinks should mitigate circumstances a little.

He wonders if Liam knows. Kissing Zayn really wasn’t Harry’s most brilliant idea, and it distracts him all through the first part of the day - pretty as Zayn is, Harry doesn’t want to get involved. Partly because Zayn is a serial monogamist where Harry isn’t, but mostly because of Zayn having a boyfriend and Harry not actually wanting to ruin his friends’ lives.

At least all his course work is done - pretty much for the week, except recording and mixing. Harry’s been working on a lot of electronic stuff.

When he started here, it was all guitars and vocals, but at some point one of his teachers was talking about how earnest his voice sounded, how sweet and mainstream, and Harry stopped wanting to sing so much, after that.

Never mind that singing was his dream. He’s kind of embarrassed about it, is all, because a sweet, mainstream little voice like his is never going to get heard in the noisy maelstrom of New York.

Not that his electronic work is anything stand out, either, but he’s gotten it played on the college radio station a few times now, and multiple people he’s never met have bought his first album off of Bandcamp.

Even without his voice - which his mum had insisted was his ticket to fame - he’s doing all right for himself.

He gets more homework, and it’s lucky he has Fridays off because he spends all Friday gallivanting about town, as if he hasn’t explored Brooklyn a hundred times already. That doesn’t mean he likes the place any less.

One of his neighbors has a little dog that Harry likes to pet, and then it’s off to the bodega for a bag of chips and a soda that he takes with him while he heads over to a bookstore then a thrift store and then another thrift store, this time humming that Macklemore song under his breath while he tries to work out whether he can get the staples out of a shirt without ruining it if he buys it.

Staples, Harry has found, are the biggest danger about thrifting clothes.

Shopping sorted, he goes to get some coffee, because he’s sort of flagging at this point. There’s a little coffee shop not too far away that has the most transcendent granola Harry has ever eaten, and he never thought he’d say that about fucking granola, of all things, so that means it’s all the better.

The other nice part about this particular coffee shop is the perky little Irishman who’s at the counter half the time Harry comes in. Harry keeps meaning to learn Niall’s schedule, but he hasn’t bothered yet.

“Look, it’s Harry!” Niall waves Harry in. “Look, Justin, this’s Harry. Harry! Justin just started here. Be nice to him.” Niall puts an arm around Justin’s shoulder. Justin, for his part, just looks sort of lost.

“Hi?” Justin tries.

“So you’re new?” Harry asks, stupidly.

“Just said that, Harry,” Niall points out. “Yeah, he’s great, though. Showed me a picture of his hat collection t’other day. It's almost as good as mine is.”

“Impressive,” Harry says, and gets his coffee then hangs around the counter talking to Niall. Niall always has good stories. Better than Harry’s, at least, because Harry can never keep focused long enough to finish his properly, or when he does, he can’t keep the attention of whoever he’s telling for finishing to be worthwhile.

Possibly that’s something Harry should work on.

“So how’s Zayn?” Niall asks, leaning forward conspiratorially.

“He’s all right?” Harry shrugs. “Dunno, he’s been - there was some - yeah. Whatever, he’s all right.”

“What happened? You can tell! I’ll keep a secret.”

“You’re awful with secrets.” Harry shakes his head, grinning despite himself. “Don’t try to trick me with that. You’re the one who told Taylor I used to sing.”

“You never said that was secret! Besides, worked out well, didn’t it?” Niall says. “Fine, though, you don’t have to tell me. Keep me in the dark. It’s fine. I’m used to it.”

“Give me a free coffee and maybe I’ll think about it,” Harry says; Niall, ever-willing to please, gets him one. Harry beams. “Cheers.”

“So what happened?”

“Not telling.”

“Come on!” Niall flips him off, though he doesn’t seem too bothered, and then he’s got a line of customers to deal with so Harry heads off.

His first stop is the library, which doesn’t have the book he needs, then it’s back to the apartment, then out to a show. This one is luckily only a few blocks away. After the show, there’s an afterparty, and Harry ends up doing karaoke at someone’s house, belting out the Remix to Ignition because it always gets stuck in his head when he thinks about afterparties.

Basically no one he knows is at either event, so he hangs out with randoms for a while, chats up a girl before deciding he’s too drunk to actually try and pull, and then goes to get still more coffee - from a Dunkin Donuts, this time, solely because it’s open 24 hours - before heading home.

Saturday is homework and more of the same, and then Sunday whips by in a blur of god-knows-what, mostly hanging out with Zayn and having Niall over and watching a bloody marathon of The Walking Dead, which actually kind of terrifies Harry, mostly because he has no idea what he’d do if that show were real.

Then it’s another week of classes, and another weekend spent much the same way. Harry’s life falls into very predictable patterns, in some ways. For all that he never knows where he’ll end up on a given night, there’s a good chance there’ll be music and liquor involved somehow.

Sometimes Taylor will show up, but not always - she’s not as into partying as Harry is, though she is good for a laugh anyway. Mostly Harry just forgets to invite her to anything, ever. He thinks she’s finally starting to get the hint.

It’s a few weeks later when he goes to this party in Manhattan. They’re up on the rooftop garden of some building, and Harry’s honestly pretty impressed. He’s never done a party on a rooftop before, in the year or so he’s been in New York. The best part is how he's pretty sure he's the youngest one here.

It’s a bit chilly, so he’s glad he’s got a jacket on. He’s got some drink made out of vodka and god knows what else, and it’s really sweet and probably a bit girly, but Harry doesn’t give a fuck, honestly. He rarely gets to drink cocktails anyway.

In the States, he’s not technically of legal drinking age, so most of what he gets is shitty beer at parties or whatever he can talk his friends into buying him. Being borderline broke most of the time doesn’t help matters much, either.

Getting the chance to drink something a little frou frou and fancy is fun, anyway. He sleazes it up a bit with one girl, until she says, “Oh my god, I think my girlfriend’s about to fall off the roof,” and apparently he misread her intentions entirely and ends up laughing at himself for it.

“If it isn’t everyone’s favorite little spy!” Someone comes from behind and throws and arm around Harry’s shoulders, stepping into place beside him. “How are you, Harry?”

“Good,” Harry says. “Didn’t think I’d see you again, Nick.”

“I’m everywhere,” Nick whispers. “Nah, I just know the girl who’s hosting. What’re you doing here?”

“Dunno,” Harry says, truthfully enough. “Some of my friends were supposed to come, I think, but I dunno where they got off to.”

“A tragedy, that.”

“It’s really weird how we keep running into each other, though,” Harry says. “Give me your number, so I can text you and make sure I avoid you from now on.”

“Harsh!” Nick says, laughing. “You’re a mean one, Harry. Very mean indeed.”

Harry pulls out his phone anyway, unlocking it. He gives a perfunctory glance to his messages, then passes it to Nick. “C’mon, though, I really do want your number. You’re all right.”

“Yeah, well. I’ll be expecting a call next time you get yourself too drunk to find your way home.”

“It was one time,” Harry says. “One time!”

“And that’s one third of the times I’ve met you, so it seems significant,” Nick tells him gently, patting Harry on the back.

 

Harry has no fucking clue what he's actually going to do with Nick's number. It's just nice knowing he can get a phone number from someone, even if it's not the girl he was trying to chat up, and even if it's not from someone he has any intentions of having sex with.

Not that he'd mind, necessarily. Nick's clearly a bit older, but he's good looking and dresses well. No one'd judge Harry for that, he doesn't think, and besides, Nick's clearly got enough money for a decent apartment and the energy to come out to parties, so he can't be all bad.

The only real trouble of it is that Harry's shit at telling whether someone's gay, or bi, or whatever, so he doesn't want to risk being wrong, and then - just to compound matters - Harry's not good at telling what he himself is, either.

He likes girls. That much is clear, but he's kissed Zayn, for one, and there was Louis back in England, and it's turning into something of a pattern, only it's one where Harry doesn't know what the pattern means or why he does it or if he's actually interested or just does stupid things when he's drunk.

Right now he's not that drunk.

Right now, he's on a rooftop somewhere in Manhattan with a nice drink and none of his friends, talking to someone who's at a minimum five years his senior - not that he's asked, just Nick can't possibly be close to his age - and Harry has absolutely no idea what he's doing with his life.

He says, "So, Nick. What do you do for a living? You in school?"

"Oh, god, school," Nick says, face contorting into a goofy grimace. "I keep meaning to go back, get my doctorate, but I'm too busy. I don't want to write another thesis."

"You done, then?"

Nick looks surprised, at that, then straightens up a bit. He removes his arm from Harry's shoulder to run his hand through his hair, looking proud. "How old d'you think I am?"

"Twenty five?" Harry tries.

"Twenty five! Fuck, I'm texting Aimee. I told her I don't look old."

"How old are you?" Harry asks, laughing.

"Twenty eight," Nick whispers. "Don't tell anyone; I'm practically a dinosaur, aren't I? And I don't want to know how old you are. Please don't tell me. You'll give me a complex."

“What sort of dinosaur?” Harry wonders, idly, turning in toward Nick, offering up the smile Harry usually reserves for girls at parties. It could do for men. He doesn’t know.

“Pterodactyl, maybe.”

“Not a dinosaur,” Harry points out. “They’re flying lizards. S’different.” Liam had spent a whole afternoon berating Harry about that fact once, and it has yet to leave his mind, no matter how pointless knowing that is.

"Then a - a Stegosaurus, then, I like them."

"You a vegetarian?"

"Noo," Nick says, then, cracking up, "I like meat. I love a bit of it."

"What?" Harry asks, laughing. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

 

"Why are you asking me what dinosaur I am?!" 

 

"It's important!" Harry says, defensive, even though it's not, and then punches Nick in the arm before deciding that poking him in the side repeatedly is the better option.

Nick yelps, and the two of them end up poking and batting at each other like idiot children for a while, Harry nearly spilling the last of his drink multiple times over.

Harry has fun with it, in any case. He's always up for banter and play fighting, which Nick seems not to mind, at least. They end up leaning off the railing around the edge of the roof, looking down at the party.

Harry has a pleasant buzz going, feels warm despite the night being cold. He runs his hand down Nick's arm, while Nick is in the middle of telling him about his job doing PR for some tech startup. Harry is only half paying attention.

He keeps staring at Nick. Mostly, he's just watching Nick's mouth.

"Harry," Nick says, voice low. "You need me to take you home again?"

Harry startles. "What?"

Nick just laughs. "You're looking a little distracted there, I wasn't sure. You think you can make it on your own?"

Harry swallows hard. He wants to say he can't, or that he'd rather go home with Nick. Something like that. Instead, he just shakes his head. "You're right, yeah, I'm just tired. I should be going."

"All right." Nick smiles at him, friendly enough. "See you around, then. And give me a ring sometime, yeah?"

"Yeah." Harry nods, wide-eyed. "I will. Okay. I - bye, then. Nick. I'll see you." He should move, instead of standing there staring like some dopey, cow-eyed sop.

-

Sometime in the following 24 hours, Harry decided he quite fancies Nick, and that he should try running into him intentionally sometime and maybe seducing him, somehow. Harry's never really had to put effort into getting laid, but he's paranoid this time.

He still doesn't even know if Nick's gay, but they're practically strangers and Harry figures he can experiment or whatever safely enough, considering that they only seem to run into each other at random and don’t have any friends in common. Its not like trying and failing will ruin Harry's social life any, nor even get around, probably.

Still.

"Zayn. I need advice."

Zayn sticks his tongue out at him, makes a face, then - suddenly serious - says, "okay. What do you need, what's up?"

"So there's this person I sort of really like, I think, only maybe not, and it'd kind of - I don’t know. I want to ... yeah."

Zayn stares at him. "All right?"

Harry coughs. "'S a guy."

"All right," Zayn repeats, slowly. He wanders to the kitchen, and Harry trails after him. "You know if he's gay or anything?"

"No," Harry admits, sullen.

"So either find that out and then make a move, or just make a move and see."

"That's not helpful!"

“Sorry. I don’t know what to tell you! You don’t usually have trouble, just - use your charms. That smile of yours is practically a weapon. I’d tell you to try asking him out, but I know that’s not what you do, so, you know, you could not do that.”

“I could date! I could absolutely date. Don’t you judge me.”

“I’m not! I never said there was anything wrong with that. You’re just, you know. You’ve got your own style. It’s all right.”

“Style, ha,” Harry says. “I’ve got his phone number. Do I - like, do I call him? What do I do?”

“I said I don’t know,” Zayn says. He pauses. “D’you want to date him?”

“No,” Harry says. “I mean, I don’t think so, probably not. It’d probably be better to figure out if I want to sleep with him first, right? Which, I do, so there’s that, but like. If he’s awful in bed, then s’not worth it, and - I haven’t even done this, what if I’m awful?”

“Oh my god,” Zayn says. “Seriously?”

“Seriously!”

“You’ll be fine,” Zayn says.

“I’m having a crisis, and you tell me I’ll be fine.”

“How is this a crisis? I don’t understand why you’re even freaking out.” Zayn shakes his head. Harry has no idea why he turned to Zayn for advice on this, if he’s honest. He’s not sure why he’s asking for advice at all. Even if Nick is gay, he probably doesn’t want anything to do with someone nine and a half years his junior. “Just call him.”

“Right now?”

Zayn starts laughing. “Sure, yes, right now. I actually want to see this.”

“You’re being mean.”

“You’re being weird,” Zayn counters, cheerfully, and Harry grumbles a little and turns on the couch so he can throw his legs over Zayn’s lap, leaning back against the arm of the couch as he digs for his phone. “Oh, don’t be a jerk.”

Harry looks through his contacts until he finds Nick G in there. He wonders what the G is for, then decides it doesn’t matter, and - after taking a deep breath - hits the call button.

“I’m doing it,” Harry whispers. “I’m calling him. This is the worst, I hate you.”

“Nick Grimshaw,” a cheerful voice says, explaining the G straightaway.

“Nick! It’s Harry. From the other night. Hi.”

“Harry! I didn’t think you’d actually call.” Nick laughs, warm and sort of familiar already.

“Put it on speaker,” Zayn whispers. “This is amazing.”

Harry does, because he’s easy that way, and maybe Zayn can give him advice, not that Zayn’s been any help whatsoever thus far. “Hiya, Nick. How are you?”

“I’m all right. I was going to go get a sandwich.”

“I like sandwiches,” Harry says, dumbly.

“Yeah?” Nick asks. “You want one?”

“Yes,” Harry says, entirely too quickly. “Wait, are you asking me to like, come get sandwiches with you, or is this rhetorical?”

“The first one. I wouldn’t taunt you with the promise of food and snatch it away like that,” Nick says. “What do you take me for?”

“I don’t know. I - okay. Sandwiches are nice.” Harry pauses. “You live in Manhattan?”

“Yeah,” Nick says. “I’ve got your number now, I can text you the address of the deli - long as you’re all right with those bagel sandwiches. I was wanting one of those, really, but I could do - other sandwiches. Long as you don’t want to go to McDonald’s, we’re all right, I think.”

“No, bagels are good. I like bagels. It’s New York, it’s - yeah. Bagels,” Harry repeats.

“Smooth,” Zayn whispers, and gives Harry a thumbs up and the biggest shit-eating grin in the world. Harry thumps his leg down against Zayn’s lap, too lazy to properly kick him, and Zayn just laughs.

“All right, then.” Nick sounds bemused, at this point. “So I’ll text you and see you in a bit? Let me know when you’re almost there.”

“Okay, yeah,” Harry says, then hangs up, then thinks he should have said goodbye or something and kind of wants to die.

Zayn cracks up laughing the second Harry’s off the phone. “That was amazing!”

“I hate you,” Harry says. “You’re the worst friend I’ve ever had.”

“I am not.” Zayn pushes at Harry’s legs, trying to shove him off. “Now get out of here. Liam’s coming over soon, and I don’t want to see you for hours yet.”

 

-

Nick stares at him. “Do you always eat like that?”

Harry stares right back, at that. He’s been trying to avoid staring. He’s also been trying to ignore Nick’s foot against his under the table, because maybe Nick doesn’t realize it and thinks he’s got his foot bumped up against the table’s supports or something, so Harry doesn’t want to move away and make Nick realize what he’s done. That, or it’s on purpose, and Harry’s okay with that option, too. Whatever the case, he keeps his foot right where it is. “Like what?”

“With your tongue out,” Nick says, laughing.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Harry says, before taking another bite of his bagel sandwich. It’s a really, really good sandwich, well worth the trip out here. 

“That! You just did it again!”

“Did what?” Harry asks, bewildered.

“You do this thing,” Nick says, and picks up his sandwich, taking a very exaggerated bite out of it, sticking his tongue out first. He chews, swallows, then says, “Like that!”

Harry says, “I don’t do that!”

“You do! You don’t even know it? That’s adorable,” Nick says, beaming, and bumps his foot against Harry’s in a much more intentional way that makes Harry’s face go red, because apparently Nick makes him blush non-stop.

Harry’s heart is pounding ten times faster than he’d like it to. Harry knocks his foot against Nick’s in an awkward attempt at returning the gesture.

“You all right there?”

“Yes?” Harry says.

“You look a bit manic,” Nick says. “Like, if you don’t want to be here, that’s all right -”

“No! I do! You’re great! You’re really fit,” Harry says, too quickly, the words sort of falling out of his mouth, and then he covers his face with his hands. “Oh, god, don’t listen to me.”

“I always listen to compliments, teacup,” Nick says, laughing.

“Don’t call me that, it’s awful. M’name’s still Harry,” Harry says, biting his lip in an effort to keep from smiling. He has no idea what he’s doing. He feels young and terrified, but Nick really is awfully fit, and the sandwich is good, and he sort of rubs his foot against Nick’s ankle and Nick smiles at him and Harry thinks that, after this, he might just die. Probably. He’s going to forget how to breathe or his heart is going to fail from going too fast, something like that. The stress will destroy him.

“All right, teacup,” Nick says, sitting back in his seat, putting his arms over the back of the seat. “So, after this, you want to have a cup of tea back at mine?”

“Yes,” Harry says. “God, my roommate’s awful at tea, and I hate making it - it’s not even hard, I just hate it, I don’t know, but it’s so good, so yeah, yes, please, let’s go have some tea, thanks. At your place.”

“All right.” Nick laughs.

-

“I like your apartment,” Harry says, quietly, and then manages to trip over his own feet on the way in. Nick grabs his arm, steadying him, and quirks his eyebrows. “Sorry! Sorry. I must seem like a mess.”

“A little bit, yeah,” Nick agrees, not unkindly. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“I’m not used to making people nervous,” Nick says. “So if there’s anything I can do to stop that, let me know.”

“It’s not you. I mean, it is you, but it’s not you you. It’s just the - yeah. You.”

Nick looks at him like he’s waiting for Harry to finish the sentence, but Harry has nothing else to add. Finally, Nick says, “I’ll get the kettle on.”

“Cheers,” Harry says, quiet, feeling even more jittery than before. He goes to wait on the couch, bouncing his leg idly while he waits. He checks his phone, messages Zayn with his place! and doesn’t bother with anything else. That’s probably enough for Zayn to get the gist. Besides, Zayn’s probably busy and not likely to even want further details. Harry’s being generous here.

Nick comes back with tea, bless him, and sits just far enough that it’s Harry’s choice whether or not to get any closer. Harry goes for it, scooting in up against Nick’s side.

“Sorry I’m so nervous,” Harry says. “It’s stupid. You’re just - really, really fit.”

“You’re not bad either,” Nick tells him, kindly. “Don’t worry. How d’you not have boys and girls all over you all the time?”

“Dunno.” Harry shrugs. “I do all right with girls.”

Nick’s eyes widen, just for a moment. “You ever been with a man, then?”

“Nah,” Harry says, quiet. He doesn’t think a drunken kiss counts, nor - whatever he and Louis were doing. “But - you’re really -”

“Fit, you said,” Nick says, laughing. “Drink your tea.”

“Yeah.” Harry does, and it’s good, just like he remembers. Nick’s warm beside him, and not being pushy, which Harry appreciates as much as anything else. He holds the mug of tea with both hands, feeling a little childish, and turns, leaning in close to try kissing Nick for the first time.

He lets his eyes slip shut, and Nick leans in, keeping it close-mouthed but firm. Harry’s the one to open his mouth, and Nick takes the hint, still gentle as he slips his tongue against Harry’s lips and into his mouth. Harry feels his breath hitch, and he twists his body around a little, careful not to spill his tea.

When he’s feeling a little flushed and overwhelmed just by kissing, his tea is a good enough excuse to break away and take a drink. He feels dry-mouthed and hot and still nervous, though a little less so, now, because that had been good. That had been better than he’d hoped, actually, enough to get him feeling slightly more confident in himself.

He finishes his tea, and leans forward to put the mug on the table. Nick’s still nursing his own cup, but Harry looks at him, and Nick must see something in his eyes because Nick sets his own mug down as well.

Harry climbs onto his lap, this time, feeling forward now. Nick’s hands settle on his hips, big and firm there. Harry squirms a little, getting comfortable, and getting used to the idea of being with someone who’s actually taller than he is.

“Hi,” Harry whispers, before pressing their mouths together again, more insistent this time. Hesitation seems pointless, considering he’s already on Nick’s lap, and Nick ruins it for a moment with a smile before settling, leaning back further against the couch and pulling Harry in close.

Harry’s phone buzzes, but he manages not to check it, for once in his life. For all that he’s generally glued to his phone, this is a lot more interesting. Nick slips one hand up under his shirt, still resting against his hips but touching skin now, and his fingers dig in.

Harry moans against Nick’s mouth without meaning to, and Nick laughs, low in his throat. Harry can’t decide what to do with his hands, can’t figure out where to touch first or next, so he’s left with one hand on Nick’s shoulder and the other tracing up and down against his arm like that’s of any use. Nick doesn’t seem to mind Harry’s aimlessness, at least, bless him.

Then Harry realizes Nick’s hard, and that’s weird. That’s the first thing to actually give him pause in all this, when he shifts his hips and feels Nick’s erection through the fabric of his jeans. Harry stops kissing Nick long enough to hide his face against Nick’s neck.

“You all right?” Nick asks, quiet.

“Yeah, I’m all right. S’different, is all.”

“Good different?”

“Yeah.” Harry laughs. “Yeah, it’s going all right.”

“Oh, good,” Nick says. “It’s - if you don’t want to do this, we can stop.”

“No, no,” Harry says, and nips at Nick’s neck, quick and playful before looking him in the eye, smiling. “This’s good. I’m - let’s - yeah. Can we just make out for a while?”

“Yeah, all right,” Nick agrees.

As ways to spend the evening go, this isn’t bad. Harry’s willing enough to rock his hips forward against Nick’s, shifting on Nick’s lap, but nothing more than that yet, and Nick goes along with it, doesn’t push. When Harry goes to take off his shirt, Nick helps, and Harry gets Nick’s off as well, but it’s Harry who instigates that, too.

Nick’s being so patient. Harry sighs a little. He’s gotten lucky, he thinks, finding Nick. He’s sort of fancied other men before, and there was that thing with Lou that never went anywhere, but this feels like a milestone anyway.

Hopefully Nick will be willing to give this another go another time, when Harry feels a little more ready, because eventually Harry sits back, breathing hard. “Okay. All right.”

“Okay?” Nick says. “You still all right?”

“Yeah.” Harry’s more than all right. He’s proud and pleased and really likes the feel of Nick’s chest hair, but he’s not quite sure about actually touching another man’s cock just yet. Next time, he thinks, because the idea gets him hard but he wants to give himself a little time. “I’m good. Thanks.”

“Okay.”

“I should get home,” Harry says, not looking away. “I just - I’ve got homework.”

“Of course you do,” Nick says, laughing. “Ah, you’re not still in secondary school, right?”

“No! No,” Harry says. “Don’t worry. I’m at NYU. Tisch, Music Recording, you know.”

“Thank god,” Nick says. “I didn’t want to ask, but -”

“Homework, yeah.” Harry laughs. “No, you’re safe, you’re all right. I really do have to go, though. But can I, d’you want to, I want to see you again, if you want to see me again, and like - could I try giving you a blowjob, next time? ‘S that all right? I’m probably awful at it.”

“Well,” Nick starts, faintly. “Yeah. You could do that.”

-

Harry goes home, barges into Zayn’s room and flops down onto bed next to him. “Zayn, guess what I just did.”

“You got laid.”

“I - no,” Harry says. “I made out with Nick, though.”

“Wow.”

“It was really good! You don’t understand, he was amazing. He was so nice.”

“All right?”

“Yeah,” Harry says. “It was good. Oh, hey, hey. Wasn’t Liam supposed to be back in town tonight? Why’re you here?”

“Saw him,” Zayn says. “We broke up.”

“You - no,” Harry says. “No! Stop lying. Zayn, that’s not funny, quit it.”

“He’s gone all the time,” Zayn says, sounding tired and lost. “And when he’s not, he’s busy anyway, and I’ve been - I don’t know.”

“Zayn,” Harry says, quiet. “You want me to make you a cup of tea?”

“Yeah,” Zayn says, so Harry leaves him alone for a while to do just that. It’s strange, thinking he won’t see Liam so much anymore. They’re only sort of friends, and that mostly because of the connection via Zayn.

Harry likes Liam, though, or he had. This seems so sudden. Zayn had never complained of fights, or even mentioned missing Liam so much, though perhaps that was a sign in and of itself.

He brings Zayn a cup of tea and they sit around in Zayn’s room, the record player blaring Joy Division. Harry closes his eyes for a while and hooks his ankle over Zayn’s. “I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault,” Zayn says. “It’s just - it’s weird. I hadn’t seen him in almost a month. Now I’m not going to.”

“Yeah,” Harry says, not pointing out the potential that they could run into each other around town. They’d met at a nearby record shop, after all, but Harry’s not one to rub it in when his friends are sad. “What’re you going to do now?”

“Dunno,” Zayn says. “I’ve got homework I didn’t finish ‘cuz I was so excited to see Liam again. Guess I could do that.”

“I meant more in general, but that’s a good start, I guess,” Harry says. “You want to go get drunk?”

“Where’s the party?”

“Dunno,” Harry admits. “I’d have to find one, first, but it can’t be too hard. I’ll just look on Facebook.”

“It’s all right, then. If you wanted to watch a movie or anything, though …”

“Yeah,” Harry says, so he goes and puts a movie on, and makes popcorn for the both of them before settling in. Zayn seems distracted, not that Harry blames him.

Harry’s had better nights. It’s self-centered of him to feel sad, but he really had thought Liam and Zayn were doing all right, and it had been kind of reassuring knowing at least one of his friends - two, sort of - was in a happy relationship.

While the movie plays, Harry spends half his time on his phone checking his Facebook. Liam’s got a show in town tomorrow night that Harry had replied YES to, and now he thinks probably he shouldn’t go, considering the circumstances.

He texts Taylor, though, to see what she’s up to tomorrow night, because they’re not dating and he’s been ignoring her but he suddenly wants to see someone who feels safe and familiar.

A friend’s breakup shouldn’t be bothering him this much, or probably even at all. Harry’s always been a bit of a weird one, though.

-

“I thought you died,” Taylor says, laughing, as she invites him in. “C’mon. You want a beer?”

“Yeah, cheers,” Harry says, ducking his head and shuffling along after her. “So how are you?”

“I’m all right! I started recording some of my songs. It’s really exciting. What about you, how’s your new record going?”

“S’all right.” Harry shrugs. “Finished a track the other day. It was all right, I guess?”

“I want to hear it sometime. You gonna post it on your Bandcamp?”

“Yeah, yeah. Or Soundcloud, I don’t know.” Harry shrugs, feeling awkward. He thinks about pulling her in close, thinks about kissing her or fucking her over the kitchen sofa, but it’s more as if he’s fantasizing out of obligation rather than interest right now.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m okay,” Harry says. She hands him a beer, and he cracks it open, holding the cap in the palm of his hand as he drinks from it. The metal digs into his skin. “I don’t know, my roommate’s boyfriend just broke up with him.”

“Your - Zayn?” Taylor asks. “He’s gay?”

Harry shrugs. “Dunno. He was dating this guy Liam, anyway.”

“So he’s gay.”

“Could be,” Harry allows. He doesn’t actually know. Zayn never came out to him or anything, just started talking about Liam one day, and then the two of them were a thing and Harry never bothered to ask.

“Weird!” Taylor laughs. “That’s cool - I mean, that’s too bad about the breakup, though. Was his boyfriend a jerk?”

“Nah, Liam was all right. He was in a band.” Harry pauses again. “It’s just got me sort of sad.”

“Hmm,” Taylor says, stepping in close. “You need me to cheer you up?”

“No,” Harry says immediately, without meaning to. Then he laughs, mostly at himself. “I mean - nah, I’m gonna be all right. It’s fine. Just weird.”

“Okay.” Taylor cocks her head to the side. “So what’d you come by for?”

“Just wanted to drop in, say hello.” Harry shrugs. “Steal your beer, I guess, apparently.”

“All right.” Taylor smiles at him, then looks away. “You’re a weird kid, you know that?”

“So I’ve been told, yeah.” Harry steps back, then paces the kitchen aimlessly, looking around. He’s been here before, so it’s nothing new - the same line of pots hanging off nails on the wall, the same cross-stitch above the sink, the same dish rack and paper towel holder and the same napkin hanging off the handle of a cabinet next to the sink.

Taylor’s apartment is a lot better put together than his and Zayn’s, looks less like it was cobbled together from gifts, thrift store finds and things they dug out of the trash or found in alleyways. Probably because Taylor actually buys things for her apartment, on purpose. Things that match. Harry finds it all a bit impressive, and sometimes he thinks he’d like to emulate it, or get her to help, but then he remembers he’ll be moving back home eventually and it seems like a waste, even if he is going to be here a few years more.

That, and he doesn’t want Taylor that deeply involved in his life. She’s fun, but - “I think we should stop sleeping together.”

“Oh,” Taylor says. She stares at him. “I - wow, okay.”

“It’s just …” Harry trails off. He’s not sure how to tell her that, fun as she is, he actually just wants to suck some dude’s dick and can’t stop thinking about it all the time. He’s not sure how to tell her he was really never that interested.

“Here I was thinking you were finally going to ask me out, but okay,” Taylor says. “That’s - yeah, okay.”

“Sorry,” Harry says. “You want money for the beer?”

“It’s okay,” she says. “I mean, thanks for telling me. I should have known, huh? Since you fell off the face of the earth. You’re not the best at communication.”

Harry makes a face. “Sorry.”

There’s not a lot to say, after that, and he leaves soon after, though he doesn’t want to go home, because Zayn’s still moping around and it just makes Harry feel sort of sad and then selfish for feeling sad, and that helps neither of them.

Instead, he goes and gets a giant slice of pizza and sits at the counter to eat it, then finds himself riding the subway aimlessly for a few hours, switching trains every now and then when he gets bored.

Boredom’s what takes him to a tattoo parlor, too, where he gets swallows - he feels a bit aimless, and far from home, and they’re a nice reminder how far he’s come. He leaves them covered for a day, finally going back home for a few nights so he can rest and let them heal up and actually do his damn homework for once.

Niall texts him about a party that Thursday, so Harry goes to that, and it’s fun, he guesses; he gets high and him and Niall end up at a karaoke bar that doesn’t bother to card them, and the two of them end up singing Single Ladies, so that’s fun enough. He crashes at NIall’s for the night, stumbles into class late the next day, then goes out again, and does the same thing the next night.

Niall, bless him, doesn’t ask what’s wrong, though he does give Harry a hug or two more than he generally does, like he’s being sympathetic without pushing it.

Before Harry can work up the courage to text Nick, he ends up running into him at yet another party on a Saturday night. He spots Nick from across the room. Nick hasn’t noticed him yet, and Harry considers maybe just not doing anything, except.

Except he really kind of wants to, and he’s been meaning to text Nick for days anyway, so he sneaks his way across the room and comes up behind Nick and throws his arms around him, jumping on his back. “Nick!”

“Harry!” Nick starts laughing, swaying with Harry’s weight on his back, leaning forward a bit to support him better. “There you are, how are you?”

“I’m good, I’m great, how are you?” Harry asks, hopping off again, beaming wide.

“Lucky you didn’t break anything.” Nick puts his hands in his pockets, and Harry does the same, slouching a little, unable to stop himself smiling at Nick the whole time. “So how’s things, it’s been cold out, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Harry says. “The weather, though, really? That’s the best you can come up with?”

“Apparently so.” Nick makes a face. “Does that make me boring? I’m feeling awfully boring, I’m sorry. All right, all right, no, here’s one, you ever met Jay-Z before?”

“No,” Harry says, and so ends up leaning in, listening with bright-eyed intent as Nick tells him all about the time he accidentally met Jay-Z on the job and got mistaken for Chris Martin. 

Harry’s honestly fascinated, but partway in he gets distracted by Nick’s mouth, and Nick ends up tapping him on the side of the head. “You still with me?”

“Yeah,” Harry says. “Sorry. No, that’s amazing, that’s the best story I’ve heard all year.”

“There’s a good nine months left, I’m sure someone can top it,” Nick says. Harry slides in closer to him, clasping his hands behind his back to keep himself from doing anything too forward with them.

“Maybe,” Harry allows, keeping his voice low. They’re close enough that he doesn’t have to raise his voice much to be heard, even over the music and conversation. “I sort of hope not, honestly. That was a good one.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Harry says. Then, feeling bold - but not too bold - he goes on. “I haven’t got any good stories, but if you wanted, you could kiss me?”

“Is that so?” Nick asks, before bending down to do just that, one hand steady on Harry’s shoulder.

-

They take a taxi back to Nick’s. Harry is more sober than he meant to be, but he’s still all over Nick and acting like a fool, all sloppy and overeager. Nick seems to find it endearing, even if Harry’s sort of embarrassed with himself.

Then again, Harry’s had girls call him cute when he gets awkward. Maybe it’s more of the same, just from Nick instead this time.

On the elevator ride up to Nick’s apartment, Nick reaches out, tugging the collar of Harry’s shirt down with his thumb. Nick looks, then his eyes meet Harry’s and he grins. “When’d you get these?”

“Earlier in the week,” Harry says. “You like them?”

“They’re good, yeah,” Nick says, then starts laughing. “I like a boy who swallows.”

Harry stares at him a moment, then ducks forward, hiding his face against Nick’s shoulder. “That’s awful!”

“It was an easy target, you’re right, I’m sorry,” Nick tells him, soothingly, rubbing Harry’s back. “I’ll find a more clever way to mock you later, if you’d like.”

“Don’t make fun. It’s not nice.”

"That one didn't even make sense," Nick acknowledges, grimacing. "Who, with. Just awful. I promise i'll make it up to you."

"You'd better." Harry laughs, trailing after Nick into his apartment once the elevator's reached its destination.

"You want -" Nick starts, in a way where Harry's sure he's about to offer either liquor or tea. Harry pushes him back against the door instead, craning his neck to crash their mouths together. He feels eager and earnest and a bit vulnerable, really, but Nick gets his hands on Harry's waist and steadied him, and Harry thinks, rather dissolute, that this is all right. Terrible jokes notwithstanding - or maybe partly thanks to the awful jokes - Harry thinks Nick is pretty great.

This second time, he feels a lot less hesitant about everything, and ends up reaching down between them, rubbing at Nick through his trousers. Nick lets out a slow breath through his teeth, and Harry grins at him, pleased that he seems to have surprised Nick.

"Feeling good tonight, hm?"

"Miserable," Harry tells him, perfectly cheerful and honest about the fact. He still feels a bit weird and sad, and he's probably putting too much stock in tonight and Nick's ability to fix anything considering how they barely know each other.

Just, he's got Nick hard and is halfway there himself, and Nick seems so nice. He's a good kisser, has big hands and a handsome face, which is apparently all Harry really needs.

Harry's thought about this - both in general and with Nick in particular - and he's feeling lit up, almost incendiary. He fists a hand in Nick's shirt, drawing him closer. Part of him just wants Nick to take the lead, but part of him is all right like this, too.

Last time Nick was so patient with him. Harry needs to just go for what he wants, get what he needs. So long as Nick wants it too, of course, which he seems to with how he's leaning into it, with how his fingers are pressing bruisingly hard at Harry's hip and how hard he is against Harry's hand.

Harry fumbles a bit, at first, with the button on Nick's trousers, but then he's got it and it's a swift motion to pull the zip down, too, and to shove his trousers down a bit. Now there's just Nick's pants.

They're still leaned up against the front door. Harry runs a finger along the length of Nick's cock, through the thin cotton; Nick shivers, groans against his mouth as Harry kisses him again then turns his head to press his face into Harry's hair. "You want to go to the bedroom, maybe?" Nick asks, low in Harry's ear.

Harry laughs, sinking to his knees. He looks up at Nick and grins, wide, feeling almost giddy now for no discernible reason. "Nah. Here's all right with me."

"Fuck." Nick laughs. "Thought you hadn't done this before. What'd you get up to since I saw you last?"

"Nothing," Harry admits. "Still haven't." He leans in, nuzzling at Nick, still with that layer of fabric hiding him away. Even with that, Harry can smell him, and he breathes in deep.

Nick shivers, and runs his fingers through Harry's hair. "Well, all right then."

"I just really want to," Harry says, tugging Nick's pants down just enough to show him off. Harry noses at him again, sort of curious. "You'll forgive me if I'm awful, right?"

"With a mouth like that, you've got to be a natural. You'll do fine." Nick looks - and sounds - a bit shellshocked, breathless, though not in a bad way.

“Flatterer.” Harry laughs a little, smiling up at Nick before settling in. He considers, for a moment, how to do this. He likes Nick, and wants to do a good job. It shouldn’t be all that hard, and even a bad blowjob is still a blowjob. Harry’s just nervous.

Why he cares so much about impressing Nick, he’s not really sure.

Harry wrinkles his nose, thoughtful for a second, then opens his mouth. He wraps his hand around the base of Nick’s cock just in case, and takes the tip into his mouth, tentative.

“Mind your teeth,” Nick tells him, low and friendly about it. Harry huffs out a laugh and tries covering his teeth with his lips; he’s never thought about the finer mechanics that much, honestly. He feels a little more confident with that reminder, though, and goes for it, sloppy and eager, using his tongue a lot.

He’s a lot more slobbery than he means to be, too, and at a few points nearly manages to gag himself. Nick’s got his hands braced against the wall. Every now and then, Harry looks up to check Nick’s reaction.

Every now and then, Harry will do something that gets Nick to tilt his head back, eyes scrunched shut. Otherwise, Nick watches him, pupils blown huge and dark. It’s late enough that Nick’s hair has sort of given up the gun, falling down across his forehead, curling a little. He’s tense, leaning back against the door, and Harry smiles around him.

This isn’t quite how Harry imagined it - he didn’t figure on his jaw getting sore, for one thing. It’s better in some ways, though, up close like this. He hadn’t figured on liking how Nick smells so much, either.

Nick watches Harry. Harry closes his eyes, trying to better coordinate his hand and mouth, and then he gets an idea, using his free hands to cup Nick’s balls, massaging them.

“God,” Nick laughs, and Harry squints his eyes open, glancing up at him. “No, that’s good, that’s good, keep - yeah, fuck.”

Harry sort of nods, humming vaguely to confirm he’s heard, which Nick seems to like, too. Nick isn’t particularly demonstrative, but there are signs, at least, that he’s liking this; Harry wishes he knew what he were doing, but. He can’t be doing too poorly, either. He thinks Nick would tell him if he did anything grievously wrong, or he hopes so, anyway.

Maybe he can ask for pointers, next time, something like that. Get Nick to walk him through it. That thought makes Harry shiver, wanting to grin to himself. He just wants to find out  
what Nick likes and make him feel that.

He hopes Nick will want to keep hooking up with him after this, hopes he’ll get a chance to prove he really is a quick learner. He’s just eager to please, gets off on getting people off, and hopes - whatever. He’s hoping too much, probably.

Nick comes after not too much longer. Harry’s sort of glad, despite himself, because his jaw was starting to ache. He’s not used to keeping it open that long for anything but the dentist.

Nick warns him, first, so Harry backs off, jerks Nick the rest of the way through it and scrunches his eyes shut. He could have just pulled away entirely, or wrapped his hand around or something, but he lets Nick come on his face, feels the come splatter across his cheek and lips, a little bit on his nose.

He looks up at Nick. Nick looks down at him, and Harry licks his lips, grinning.

“Fuck,” Nick says, meaningfully.

“How was I?” Harry asks, low and pleased.

“You did all right.” Nick laughs. “I’d - yeah. Definitely all right. C’mere, let me kiss you.”

Harry obliges, getting awkwardly to his feet again, Nick holding out a hand to help him up. Harry leans against him, feeling quite pleased with himself, and curls his fingers around Nick’s, holding on.

“I really do want to sit down,” Nick says. “And, here, what’s this?” He grins, patting at Harry’s crotch, where Harry’s still achingly hard, and Harry laughs. “I’ll take care of that, yeah?”

“Yes, please,” Harry says, grinning to himself. They don’t actually make it all the way to the bedroom, but they do get to the couch, where Nick pins Harry to the cushions and kisses him hard and fierce and jerks him off, with Harry’s jeans around his ankles, trapping his legs.

After he gets off, Harry is - as ever - hungry, so he says, “You got anything to eat?”

“Well,” Nick says. “There’s toast.”

“You made me toast last time.”

“It’s good though, toast is,” Nick says. “Are you insinuating there’s something wrong with toast?”

“Nah.” Harry yawns, and kicks his jeans off the rest of the way, then wiggles out from under Nick and pads his way to the kitchen.

He can feel Nick staring after him, and grins to himself as he opens the refrigerator. Then he frowns. He stands there a long time, pondering the sight in front of him. “Nick?”

“Yes?”

“Do you eat?”

“I usually just order takeaway,” Nick admits, laughing, finally coming to the kitchen after Harry. “I - there’s jam in there. Mustard.”

“Those don’t make for a good meal, though.”

“No,” Nick says. “Want a Coke?”

“No!” Harry laughs. “We’re going grocery shopping. Nick. Nicholas. How do you not have anything edible?”

“I told you! There’s bread, that’s in the cupboard.”

“This is amazing. You’re older than me, you’re meant to be like - more mature. Responsible.”

“Who says that? I’d like to argue otherwise,” Nick says. “I never agreed to being mature. I protest.”

“It’s just the way of things,” Harry tells him, turning so he can pat NIck sympathetically on the shoulder. “Sorry.”

Nick raises his lip in a mock-snarl, then winks, instead, ducking in to kiss Harry on the cheek. “You want to get takeaway instead of mocking me for my refrigerator?”

Harry considers this, then shakes his head. “We’re going to get groceries.”

“Groceries!”

“Yeah. I’m taking you shopping,” Harry decides. “We’re going to get some real food, and then come back here and cook it.”

“Oh, god. You don’t want to see me cook.”

“I do! I can teach you,” Harry says, laughing. “Do you need me to teach you? That’s incredible.”

“I’ve already been banned from cooking duties thrice over,” Nick says, following along helplessly as Harry goes to find his jeans and pull them back on, not bothering with his bands. Nick sighs heavily, and - after a bit of getting ready - even follows Harry out of the apartment. “Are we really doing this?”

“Yeah.”

Harry makes Nick buy some fruit, and chicken and peppers and a few other things. He thinks about going for broke and baking something, too, but he’s no idea whether or not Nick has any pans or tins for baking and doesn’t want to ask.

Harry sets about putting things away first thing when they get back.

When he opens the freezer, he has to laugh. “Nick!”

“Yeah?” Nick’s busy putting dishes away, something he apparently doesn’t do regularly, judging by the state of his washing machine and sink. “What is it?”

“When’s the last time you defrosted this thing?”

“Dunno,” Nick says. “Been a while. Why, is there a problem?”

“There’s not even going to be room for the food with this much ice.” Harry shakes his head, feeling fond. The only things in the freezer are a lonely looking tub of ice cream and a whole lot of liquor. Harry grabs a bottle of whiskey and has a bit, then gets to work arranging things and putting food away.

“Look, you’re making it fit, you’ve got it,” Nick says. He comes up behind Harry, peering into the freezer over his shoulder. “It is a bit sad, isn’t it?”

“Well, we’ve fixed it now.”

“I just hope everything doesn’t end up going off,” Nick says, stepping back and letting Harry put everything into the refrigerator too. “Oh, should I be helping with this? Sorry, sorry, what do you need me to do?”

“Not much, anymore.” Harry grins. “All right, though, all right. We’re going to make dinner, c’mon. You’ve got knives, right?”

Nick gets a butter knife from the drawer.

Harry’s face falls. “Like a real one.”

“This is a real knife!” Nick says, defensive. “It was a joke, anyway. No, all right, yeah, I’ve got a chef’s knife somewhere. My mum got it for me off Amazon.”

“That’s incredible,” Harry says, wonderingly. “One knife’ll do, then, I guess. Okay.”

Harry means to teach Nick things. He really does, but instead he ends up sort of halfheartedly narrating while he chops vegetables, which isn’t the most exciting. Nor is the frying part of things.

The whole time he’s cooking, Nick leans against the counter and stares at him. Harry feels a little embarrassed, mostly.

“You know, I didn’t think you’d be a good cook.”

“You haven’t eaten my cooking yet,” Harry says, laughing. “And why would I be bad, anyway?”

“Well, considering the state you were in when I first met you …”

“Unfair.” Harry grins despite himself. “You’re going to keep rubbing that in, aren’t you?”

Nick clasps his hands together, batting his eyelashes as he pitches his voice up high. “Ooh, Nick, look at me, I’m drunk and pretty, please take me home!”

“That’s not how I sounded! You volunteered.” Harry points the knife at Nick accusingly. “Now you’ve got me concerned about your intentions.”

“My intentions were incredibly noble and pure.” Nick holds his hands up defensively. “Aimee would’ve had my hide if they weren’t, trust me.”

“I know, I know. It was nice! That was so nice of you.” Harry beams, still stupidly pleased by Nick’s kindness.

“I’m just surprised you want anything to do with me,” Nick admits. “Young, pretty thing like you and all.”

“Have you looked at yourself lately?” Harry asks, faintly amused as he tends to the chicken and vegetables he’s got frying, adding a bit more in the way of seasoning. It looks close to done, so he leans in, paying more attention to that than to Nick.

Nick’s grimace is audible. “I have, that’s the problem.”

“Well, I think you’re quite handsome,” Harry says, distracted still. “Wouldn’t have wanted to get with you if you weren’t. Cheers, by the way, that was nice, earlier, and - yeah, wouldn’t mind doing it again sometime.”

“What, after dinner?”

Harry laughs. “Yeah, after dinner. And - in the future. Is that weird, saying that? Like, in advance? I should just let it happen, right?”

“No, it’s all right,” Nick says. “I don’t mind. It’s - you know, it’s nice to know.”

“So there,” Harry says. He spears a bit of chicken on a fork, holding it up to get a closer look. “And how about that! Dinner’s ready. I was meant to be making you do everything, wasn’t I?”

“I hoped you wouldn’t notice.”

“I’ll have to teach you another time, too, then,” Harry sighs. “How awful that’s going to be. Coming ‘round to fuck and having to give cooking lessons. The depths I’m sinking to here, Nick. They’re incredible.”

“It must be difficult for you.” Nick pats Harry on the head, then ducks in for a kiss, now that the stove’s off. Harry tries not to smile too hard as he leans into it. He really does quite like Nick, for all they barely know each other.

He actually, honestly wants to get to know Nick better. It’s weird, and a little disorienting, but sort of nice too. Nick just feels instantly comfortable, like they’ve known each other for ages already. 

Dinner’s nice, though, getting to curl up on the couch with Nick and steal food off his plate even though Harry has plenty of his own. They make out again after, too, slow and content about it.

“‘m tired,” Nick admits, eventually, yawning. “I can usually make it without hardly any sleep, but I’ve been up late too much. Finally catching up with me.”

“S’too bad.” Harry hesitates. “You want I should go home, then?”

“You can stay, if you’d like. I won’t be very interesting sleeping.”

“I could kip and then leave,” Harry says, thinking, because it’s later than he’d realized, far nearer to sunrise than he’d hoped. “Just until morning.”

“Yeah, all right,” Nick says, and gets up, holding his hand out for Harry and leading him to bed, leaving the dishes where they are on the coffee table. As Nick’s getting off his clothes - because, sadly, they’d had to get dressed for grocery shopping - Harry watches him, hoping that’s not too weird. 

Nick’s moving slowly, but without a hint of deliberateness to it, just genuine sleepiness where he’s clearly not even trying to look good about it. 

He looks good anyway.

“C’mon, then,” Nick climbs into bed, holding the covers up, then yawns again. “And I meant it about sleep. No funny business, Harry.”

“No funny business,” Harry agrees, amused, getting in. “I like a cuddle, s’fine. I won’t judge you too harshly.”

-

Harry wants to blow Nick when he wakes up. Nick’s curled up around him, hand slung over his waist, chest pressed to Harry’s back, and Harry really just wants to untangle himself and get his mouth on Nick’s cock.

Just - that seems a little forward, when Nick’s asleep, and maybe Nick won’t be interested. It’s a lot later than Harry wanted to stay, for one, and it’s possible last night was just some weird fluke and Nick was just being nice to him even though he did an awful job and was a bad lay.

Harry’s plenty good with girls. This is just - it’s new, and he cares entirely too much what Nick thinks of him.

Instead of giving Nick a blowjob, he gets up, goes to the kitchen and starts making breakfast. That’s got to be nearly as good, and will hopefully ingratiate him to Nick better than a blowjob Nick might or might not want.

It’s lucky Harry made them go grocery shopping in the middle of the night last night; luckier still a decent store was open. It means he can do a proper fry-up, tossing some toast on at the last minute and getting the kettle on.

He could have just left, probably. Gone home, gotten a bagel on the way. He’s not sure what he’s still doing here or why he’s making as near to a full English as he can.

When Nick finally shuffles into the kitchen, though, Harry figures out why - because he really, really likes it when Nick smiles.

“You’re a proper little housewife, aren’t you?” Nick asks, his voice still rough with sleep and warm with amusement, and Harry kind of wants to melt. “I haven’t had a proper breakfast in ages, this is amazing.”

“Didn’t want to leave you to starve.”

“I was wondering if you’d left, then I smelled bacon,” Nick says. “You have anywhere to be today?”

Harry shrugs. “Should do some errands later. Got to get to the shops. Nothing much, though.”

“You can hang around however long you like, then,” Nick says. He’s in just his pants, like he was when he went to sleep. Harry’s tempted to stare, except then he realizes he’s this close to burning the eggs, so he scrambles to save those instead. Nick laughs at him, but Harry sort of deserved it, so.

He ends up sticking around for a few hours after breakfast, ‘till it’s well into the afternoon; the two of them sit around and watch the telly and talk about nothing in particular, and it’s nice. It’s really, really nice, actually. Harry’s not fallen into a friendship this easily in ages, not since Louis, and Louis’s special, probably.

He’s also not worth thinking about right now. Harry’s in the US. Louis isn’t. That’s that.

Eventually, Harry really does have to go - he needed to get to the bank, and he only just makes it there in time.

When he gets home, Zayn’s on the couch, and lifts his arm in a lazy wave as greeting.

“Hiya, Zayn,” Harry says, flopping across the couch, legs on Zayn’s lap because it’s comfortable and he’s a bit of a jerk. “How’s things?”

“All right, I guess.”

“Yeah? What’s wrong?”

“I said things’re all right.” Zayn shrugs. “Dunno, just - yeah. I don’t know.”

“Cheer up,” Harry says. “It’s the weekend.”

“Haven’t got anything to do.”

“Hmm,” Harry says. “I’ll find something.”

-

He takes Zayn out to a shitty little comedy club, where the comics are just awful enough to come back around to hilarity on accident, and it’s kind of nice. He texts Niall, too, and Niall comes by in the middle of things.

Niall’s always been Harry’s secret weapon for cheering Zayn up. Something about the ridiculous little Irish barista makes Zayn get goofy and delighted. Whatever it is about him works tonight, too - as soon as Zayn spots Niall, he gets half out of his chair, then reconsiders and waves Niall over, grinning wide.

Niall beams right back, plopping himself right down on Zayn’s lap since there’s not actually an open chair available, and he spends an implausibly long time there, an arm around Zayn’s neck, the two of them whispering at each other every now and again.

When the allure of terrible comedy’s worn thin, they go back to Niall’s cramped little studio to play FIFA for hours. Mostly Niall and Zayn play - on the same team, no less - and Harry watches, though, because he’s not got the head for it tonight and it’s not for three players anyway.

It’s still fun, though, and the night gets Harry thinking.

He wants to throw a party. A real, proper party, back at their apartment, with decorations and everything, purely for Zayn’s benefit.

Well, and for Harry’s, too. It’d be a good chance to pull, probably, getting a lot of strangers to crowd into their space and drink and dance and whatever.

Nick is well and truly all right, but Harry gets this warm, fuzzy feeling thinking about him sometimes, and that’s got Harry all unsettled. The thing is, Harry doesn’t date. He doesn’t do relationships. He’s declared it off limits, and Nick makes him want to do stupid, terrible things like hang around the morning after cooking breakfast.

Harry wants to hold Nick’s hand, and if that’s not the stupidest idea that’s ever crossed his mind then it comes incredibly close. The second stupidest was potentially staying in the UK instead of coming to New York and going to Tisch, but he resisted that one. He can get over this stupid idea as well.

Just, Nick texts him a few days later with weren’t you going to teach me to cook? and Harry is powerless to resist.

Haha yeah :) x is his reply, and he deletes and retypes the little x a good twenty times before hitting send. He follows up quick with, why, you hungry??? because that seems relevant. If Nick isn’t, then Harry won’t bother, he decides.

Of course Nick comes back with starving!!! and the saddest string of crying emoji Harry has seen in his life. He kind of wishes he didn’t have those things on his phone, mostly because right now, he’s altogether too charmed.

He sighs.

Zayn squints at him from across the couch, looking up from his laptop long enough to seem judgmental. “What is it?”

“I have to go make dinner for a friend.”

“A friend?” Zayn asks, breaking into a grin. “Is it that Nick?”

“No!” Harry says, then hangs his head at Zayn’s laugh. “Yeah. Look, it’s not anything though, all right? He’s all right, he’s fine, it’s not anything. He just has no idea how to cook, and I do, so - yeah.”

“So you’re going to do it for him.”

“Yes,” Harry says. “No! I’m teaching him how.”

“Oh, wow,” Zayn says, fondly. “That's adorable.”

“How is this adorable?”

"You're teaching him to cook!"

“It’s not like - it’s not a thing, I already said that. But I meant it. So I’m repeating it, I guess. So you don’t have to feel bad or anything, being single while I’m not, because I am still single, so we’re the same, you and I.”

“Uh-huh,” Zayn says.

“Look, no, it’s like the other day. I went to this hot dog stand, right? And I was like, all these people in front of me are getting hot dogs, and I hadn’t got one yet, and I was sort of sad. But then I got one and I figured, all the people behind me must be thinking the same thing I was just thinking. But they’ll be in the same place as me soon.” Harry shrugged, pausing to consider where his story was going for a moment. “And then everyone after me got a hot dog, so it was like, we really were all sort of connected, weren’t we? We had that common bond between us. Even though we was strangers, yeah? And you and me, we’re not strangers, so it’s deeper than that.”

“I have no idea what you just said. Something about us being deeper than hot dogs.”

“Yeah,” Harry says, pleased he managed to get his point across. He knows his stories aren’t particularly good - Zayn’s told him so multiple times, and made a habit of it last semester during a screenwriting class he had as an elective - but sometimes they work. Unless Zayn’s making fun of him again, but Harry chooses to ignore that option.

“Maybe you should let yourself get a hot dog sometime,” Zayn says. “If that metaphor was about what I think it was.”

“I’ve had sex,” Harry says, grumpy. “Fuck off.”

“I - no!” Zayn cracks up, then shakes his head, feigning a sudden seriousness. “I’m saying you should teach Nick to cook hotdogs.”

“Anyone can cook hot dogs. I’m thinking - I don’t know, actually. Maybe a nice steak?”

“I thought you didn’t date.”

“Teaching a man to make a steak isn’t a date, Zayn,” Harry explains, tiredly.

-

Except Nick has wine at his house, and they cook dinner together and eat it at the kitchen table and Harry thinks, possibly, Nick thinks it’s a date.

“This isn’t a date, right?” Harry asks, suspiciously.

Nick just laughs. “What? Why, do you want it to be?”

Mentally, Harry does a little dance of joy. “No! God, no. Hey, though - steak and blowjobs, that’s American, yeah?”

“It’s in the true American spirit, yeah,” Nick says. “That your way of saying you want one?”

“You could interpret it that way.” Harry sits back, feeling smug, and then Nick gets on his knees right there at the kitchen table.

It might, just possibly, be the best blowjob Harry’s ever received. He’s really, really glad Nick doesn’t want to date him. 

-

“So you should help me plan this party,” Harry says.

“Which party?” Nick asks, hopping up on the counter to watch as Harry attempts to style his hair without the aid of a blowdryer. Harry doesn’t know what he’s actually doing with his hair today, nor why he doesn’t ask if he can use Nick’s. Clearly Nick has one, the way his hair defies gravity.

He thinks maybe it would feel a little too domestic if he did, using Nick’s things and all. Not that he hasn’t cooked for Nick - and made Nick cook - but that’s different, Harry’s pretty sure, because he came over for that express purpose.

He didn’t come over to fix his hair after they showered together, but here he is.

It’s just nice that it’s such an easy thing to fall into. They don’t have to be dating or whatever to appreciate each other, to spend time and be close and all. Harry likes this, and he likes Nick, and he’s not going to put a label on it.

“For my roommate, Zayn,” Harry says.

“Never met him. What’s he like?”

“Photography student,” Harry says, trying to tug his hair upright. It flops back down again. He doesn’t even know what he’s going for with it right now. “Likes to get high a lot.”

“And what’s the occasion?”

“He just went through a bad breakup and I want to cheer him up.” Zayn hadn’t said it was a bad breakup, especially, but he’s been a little withdrawn, and Harry thinks that really says enough. Possibly Harry just wants an excuse to throw a party, but he’s not going to come out and say that.

“Aw, how nice of you.” Nick laughs. “You’re fantastic. All right, so is this just a house party, or what?”

“Yeah, probably,” Harry says. “I can’t afford much else.”

“Hmm,” Nick says. Then, “So why’s it need planning? Just have a bunch of people over, have a good time, and there you go.”

“Dunno. I feel like there should be a cake, maybe? Decorations? I don’t know.”

“What, like a ‘sorry about your love life’ cake?” Nick asks, a little incredulous.

“No! Just - to cheer him up,” Harry says. He crosses his arms, then uncrosses them in favor of shoving them into his pockets. Sighing, he gives up on looking affronted, and goes back to raking at his hair. “You think a cake’s a bad idea?”

“Just don’t write anything on it,” Nick says, laughing. “And make sure there’s other food so it doesn’t stick out. Like, a cake with some crisps and - cheese and crackers, that looks all right, but if it’s just cake, that makes it the focus, you know?”

“I guess,” Harry says. He shoves his hair to the left, decides he hates that, and tries it to the right, instead, narrowing his eyes at himself in the mirror. “Yeah, all right. So we’ll get other snacks.”

“I like how you’ve just assumed I’m helping.” Nick beams.

Harry turns from the mirror to look at Nick, startled. “You’re not?”

“Nah, you’ve reeled me in,” Nick says. “I am officially on the hook for this ridiculous party of yours.”

“Great! Cheers, man,” Harry says, and leans up to kiss Nick, just because he can and he’s grateful. Nick beams at him, and Harry gives up on his hair for a while, in favor of stepping between Nick’s legs and grabbing his face, pulling him in for a proper snog.

“Look at this, though, now I get to meet your roommate.” Nick sits back, clasping his hands together. “How sweet. It’s like meeting the family, only less terrifying.”

“It’s not like that at all. He’s just Zayn.”

“Well, I haven’t really met any of your friends,” Nick points out.

“So?”

Nick shrugs. “You’ve met mine.”

“Yeah, true,” Harry says.

-

Nick’s point is proven later; Harry finally gets his hair looking pretty cool, and they head out to the dinner party that Aimee’s throwing.

Nick has a lot of friends. A few of them even recognize Harry - he’s definitely met Matt before, and Ian looks familiar, if nothing else. He’s pretty sure he tried to pull LMC once, though she wanted nothing to do with him.

Being surrounded by expats while he’s studying abroad is simultaneously bizarre and amazing, and Harry’s pretty into it. He still sits next to Nick, of course - both because it seems inevitable and because, cool as Nick’s friends are, Harry still prefers Nick by virtue of having known him longest of them all - but that doesn’t preclude him from conversation at all.

Everyone else wants to go to a bar after, though, and Harry’s still underage, so he ends up having to bail early.

“I don’t want to know how old you are,” Nick tells him, as they’re saying their goodbyes.

“All right,” Harry agrees, cheerful. “Then I won’t tell.”

“Thank you.” Nick bows, then takes Harry’s hand and kisses his knuckles, acting very dashing. “Text me sometime, yeah? About that party, or - whatever.”

“Yeah,” Harry says. “Yeah, all right, I can do that.” They like spending time together. That’s fine. Harry spends time with his friends as often as he can anyway, there’s nothing weird about it, nor about the little surge of delight he gets when Nick specifically asks him to text later.

The thing is that Harry is, however much he tells himself he’s not, sort of concerned. He loves his friends, and he doesn’t love Nick, but he likes him a lot, appreciates him as a person and a hook up, and he just really does not want everyone to hate each other.

He wants his friends to like Nick. It’d just be easier, he thinks; he enjoys the notion of having Nick over sometimes, of getting to hang out with everyone at once. Not that he’s hung out with Nick that often. Maybe Nick won’t want to anyway.

Maybe him and Nick are just - well, they are just a casual thing, but maybe Harry’s meant to be keeping this separate from the rest of his life.

He doesn’t want to, though. He wants everybody to know Nick.

That gets a notion in his head, so he texts Nick, Hiiiiiiii! x and waits for a reply before deciding sitting around staring at his phone’s a stupid idea. His keys are in the pocket of the blazer he wore yesterday, so he tosses that on, and grabs his sunglasses from their rather arbitrary spot on the kitchen counter.

Why he put them there, he has no idea. Shoving his phone in his pocket, he heads out the door and goes to try and find some inspiration for Zayn’s party.

Not that a party really needs inspiration, per se: it needs alcohol and music, mostly. Harry isn’t naive enough to think a theme party will end well. Enforcing rules is pointless, and he’ll end up being the only person to actually do the theme, and he’s not going to deal with that.

Ridiculous party decorations, though, seem a wonderful idea. He just has to figure out what to get.

Duane-Reade really doesn’t have the greatest selection, but he stares at the card section with an intensity that makes other people skirt far, far around him to get where they’re headed. Then his phone buzzes with Nick’s reply.

Worrrrk! What you up to, teacup? which is obnoxious, because Harry’s told him not to call him that. Teacup is better than being branded hipster or any of the other monikers Harry’s accrued and shed over the years, though not by much. He can’t even work out if it’s an insult, is the main thing.

Still, Harry replies. I can’t decide if a Spongebob theme is too ironic.

Nick’s next reply is quicker: definitely too ironic. Now go sit in the corner and think about what you’ve done

Harry rolls his eyes, laughing a little. It is a touch over the top, he supposes. though he’d rather not admit that to Nick. He knew it was a bad idea, if he’s honest. Most of why he asked was because he hoped it might charm Nick.

Harry’s actually got it pretty bad for someone he doesn’t want to date and only barely knows. Besides, Nick’s got nearly a decade on him. There are about a million reasons why it’s an awful idea, and Harry keeps having to remind himself of that.

Probably Nick wouldn’t even want to date him if Harry were willing, which makes things a touch easier and makes Harry almost sad.

It’s fine, though. They text back and forth a little while longer, then Harry gets distracted looking at recipes. He thinks he might go to Nick’s - if Nick will allow it - and make appetizers, then bring them back home, just so Zayn doesn’t get suspicious.

He texts to make sure that’s all right, too, and of course it is, because Nick is a brilliant friend, and Harry is very, very glad to have met him.

-

“Y’know, I think throwing a party was the right idea,” Harry says. “It’s cheered me right up. It’s bound to help my roommate, right?”

Nick raises his eyebrows. “You’re happy about a party you haven’t thrown yet.”

“Yeah!”

“All right.”

“What? It’s fun planning it,” Harry says. He stops, shaking his head with a rueful smile. “I was feeling sort of down for a while, is all. I don’t know. Doing something for someone else, for once, it’s sort of nice, you know?”

“Yeah,” Nick says. “That selfish kick you get off helping others is awfully nice, isn’t it?”

“It’s not selfish!”

“Well, it’s like giving money to the poor. Makes you feel good, too, right? I don’t think it’s a bad thing, being self-serving sometimes. You just have to be willing to admit it.”

Harry makes a face, and goes to get the roasted potatoes out of the vegetable. He’s tossed them with salt and pepper and rosemary, as well as a bit of olive oil, so they look a nice golden color now. Harry breathes in deep, feeling pretty pleased with himself.

There’s soup on the stove, not that soup seems like the smartest idea for a party, and Nick’s helping put together little sandwiches right now.

The cookies still need to go in the oven, but they have a few hours. Harry isn’t really worried. He’s quite pleased with himself, all told.

“Think the party’ll go well?”

“Hopefully,” Nick says. “You’ve invited loads of people, right? We’re going to run out of food.”

“That’s fine, it’s all right,” Harry says. “Just needs to be enough at the start. I asked people to bring snacks and things, too. Just like - bags of crisps.”

“Did you say crisps or chips? Because -”

“Oh, shut up.” Harry chucks a piece of potato at Nick, who laughs then stoops to pick it up off the floor and throw it away.

“We don’t want to confuse your poor American friends, Harry.”

Harry sticks his tongue out, and Nick laughs, grabbing Harry by the shoulders and licking a stripe across his cheek, obnoxious. Harry laughs, batting his hands ineffectively in Nick’s direction. He could push Nick away, but he doesn’t quite feel like it.

Instead, he leans up, catches Nick’s mouth with his own for a moment.

Nick lets out a breath through his nose, and eventually pulls away, with a much more contented smile. “You sure you’re not the domestic type?”

“Yeah,” Harry says, regretfully. “I’d just rather not - yeah. Not right now.”

“Right, well.” Nick punches Harry’s shoulder lightly, then turns, putting his hands on his hips. “All right, what else is there? Any more of your fancy hors d’ouevres? I don’t think your little uni friends are going to appreciate this at all, you know.”

“They will! It’s just pretentious enough to work, shut up,” Harry tells him, laughing. “Now fuck off with those sandwiches, you should be doing the cheese and crackers by now. How slow are you?”

“I’m not slow! This is an art form, Harold!”

“Slooooow,” Harry drawls. He beams, unable to quite help himself.

“You’re an awful friend.”

“Am not. Tell you what, I’ll blow you in the bathroom at the party, how’s that?”

“Is that supposed to make up for you being mean?” Nick asks.

“Yeah.”

Nick scratches at his chin, narrowing his eyes thoughtfully. “Hmm. It’ll have to do.”

-

While Nick helps get all the food into the cab they’ve hailed down, Harry texts Zayn. One-handed, because he’s trying to carry things too, making both tasks take an inordinately long amount of time. Still: he’s texting, to make sure Zayn’s home.

Zayn replies, nope.

Where are you!!! is Harry’s frustrated, urgent reply. He knows no one will show up for the party for hours after it’s meant to start, most likely, but that doesn’t stop him wishing things would stay on track.

He’d reminded people to come on time if they wanted food, after all.

liams, Zayn replies, without the slightest hint of proper grammar or irony about his text.

Harry stops halfway down the stairs and stares at his phone. Nick gives an indignant squawk behind him, and hits him in the back of the head with a covered plate. Luckily, neither of them falls down to their deaths. The worst thing that happens is a single cracker goes tumbling down the steps in front of them, taking its cheese with it.

Harry watches it go, and feels like it must be a metaphor for his life right now. Somehow. Probably. Possibly he’s overreacting a little.

“C’mon, move! What’s wrong?” Nick asks. “I’m going to drop all these down the back of your shirt, I swear.”

“The party’s ruined.”

“Haven’t dumped everything down your shirt yet, calm down,” Nick says. “I wouldn’t, really. Seriously, though, that taxi won’t wait forever.”

“Yeah,” Harry says, jerking into motion again, stumbling down the stairs a little unsteady on his feet after the unscheduled halt. He gets himself together again by the time they hit the street.

It’ll be a fun party if nothing else. He thought he’d talked Zayn into being back in time for the party, but apparently he missed out on that crucial step, or the Liam thing simply overrode it. Harry definitely remembers telling Zayn to be back in time to watch the American X-Factor, though. 

“Seriously, what is it?” Nick asks, as they get the last of the food into the cab and pile in, where the cabby is looking decidedly impatient.

“Zayn’s not coming to his own party, I don’t think,” Harry says.

“Oh, that’s lovely. More for us,” Nick says.

“I planned all this just to cheer him up!”

“Well, now you can use it to cheer yourself up over your own party getting ruined,” Nick says, sounding entirely too reasonable. He gets an arm around Harry’s shoulders, pulling until Harry gives up and puts his head on Nick’s shoulder. Harry laughs a little.

“Just seems really stupid, is all,” Harry says. “You’re right, though. You’re right. It’ll still be brilliant, fuck it!”

“It’s that, or we have the taxi driver turn ‘round and throw the whole party out the window. We can sit around and watch - I don’t know, Rachel Ray or someone awful while we eat all the appetizers and cry.”

“Fuck off,” Harry laughs. “I already said you were right!”

“I usually am.”

“I say we do your idea tomorrow, though,” Harry says, a little sullen even as he tries to figure out if he can’t curl up even closer in the narrow confines of the back seat. Not very well, as it turns out. “To make up for tonight.”

“We haven’t seen how tonight’s gone yet. Where’s Zayn, then? It’s Zayn, right?”

“Yeah, Zayn,” Harry says. “Over at his ex’s place.”

“Oof.” Nick laughs. “Sure you’re going to be on for plans tomorrow, then? You won’t have to cancel to attend to your best mate’s crisis or anything?”

“I already dealt with it the once!” Harry tries, then sighs, slumping down against Nick again. “You might be right. I don’t know. He might end up over there all day, though. Might never see him again. What if they run off together, bloody - elope or something?”

“Is that likely?” Nick asks, interested.

“No,” Harry admits.

“Too bad. It would’ve made a brilliant story. I might be busy tomorrow, though. Let me know if I need to clear my schedule to console you.”

“I don’t need consoling, I just want to watch some shit telly with you,” Harry says.

“And they say romance is dead.”

-

No one shows up for a good two hours, which, while Harry was expecting it, is kind of absurd. Him and Nick do end up on the sofa watching telly, though it’s at Harry and Zayn’s rather than at Nick’s. There’s radio silence from all Harry’s friends who are meant to be coming, save a last minute comment on the event page Harry set up - in secret, so Zayn wouldn’t find out! - from one person who can’t make it.

“You want to just eat everything now and have done with it?” Nick asks, at the hour and a half point.

“Someone’ll show, I swear,” Harry says. Half an hour later, there’s a knock at the door, and Harry leaps up, racing to get it with a, “Ha, I told you so!”

It’s Niall. Harry doesn’t even remember inviting him, though it’s not as if he minds. “Hiya, Harry. Wow, this party looks incredible.”

“You’re the first one here.”

“I thought two hours late’d be good, since it’s, you know, not so late that it’s like you’ve forgotten, but everyone else was an hour late, so you’re the fashionable one,” Niall says.

“You want to come in? There’s loads of snacks,” Harry says. “Me and Nick were watching this show about awful cats people have.”

“That’s a show?”

“Mmhm,” Nick says, leaning over the sofa. “This episode’s about a cat that’s deaf and blind and keeps maiming it’s owners. It’s really quite moving.”

Harry introduces Nick to Niall, then sits a touch further from Nick for a good ten minutes before giving up and leaning against him again.

Niall’s being gracious, at least. He’s also eating a lot of the snacks. Harry’s glad Niall exists.

“Where’s Zayn?” Niall asks, chewing off the edge of a cracker he’s already picked the cheese off of. “Thought this party was for his sake, not that it’s much of a party.”

“Off at Liam’s.” Harry shrugs, not looking at anything in particular.

“You said they broke up!”

“Apparently not,” Harry says. “Or they’re less broken up than I was led to believe, anyway.”

“Good for them.” Niall sticks his lower lip out, furrowing his brow. Harry has no idea what he’s going for with that expression, but he looks ridiculous. “It’s nice to know love still exists.”

“Poor Zayn’s missing some incredible television, too. This cat was pissing everywhere at the start of the show, now it’s not. So much has changed.” Nick shakes his head. “It’s awful. I feel bad for him, really, getting laid and not waiting around for a party to start.”

“It’s started!” Niall says. “Started the minute I walked in.”

Harry doesn’t say anything about it. He already feels awful enough as it is, stomach all clenched up with misery, about how badly the night’s turned out. Spending it with Nick and now Niall as well is nice, but this wasn’t how he’d planned things.

People eventually start showing up, but it all stays on the quiet side of things - not that Harry minds. He’d sort of expected it would. He got Zayn’s friends over, who are mostly quiet arty types who get drunk every other party; apparently this one’s the odd one out. Then there’s his own friends, who have apparently as a united bloc have decided not to drink much either.

So it’s nice and quiet and everyone fawns over the little hors d’ouevres him and Nick made. Most of the time Harry sticks close to Nick’s side, which seems to amuse Nick if nothing else. For his own part, Nick keeps a hand at the small of Harry’s back most of the time.

Around two, things start winding down - some of Zayn’s friends have caught wind of another party somewhere across town, and Niall’s got work the next morning. Harry’s other friends all drift off when they notice everyone else is drifting off.

Finally, it’s just Harry and Nick.

Zayn never actually showed up.

For the end of a party, the apartment is surprisingly clean. There are a few empty bottles here and there, but nothing got trashed or knocked over. Most of the garbage actually made it into the bin, a shock Harry’s glad for.

There is a bit of washing up to be done, but Nick volunteers to help out, so it takes next to no time to finish up.

“Sorry about this,” Harry says, as he finishes wiping one last glass dry. “This’s why I try not to throw parties usually.”

“Going to them’s much nicer, isn’t it?” Nick takes the glass from him, reaching up to put it away on the shelf. “Like, if you end up at a party that’s a bit shit, you can just leave, but if you’re throwing it you’re sort of stuck.”

“Oh, god, it was shit, wasn’t it?”

“No! No, no, I just meant in general.” Nick scrunches up his face, then laughs. “I didn’t mean it like that! Don’t listen to me, pretending to be wise. I don’t know anything.”

“You’re right, though -”

“It was lovely,” Nick says, tapping Harry on the nose. “You did your best. Not your fault, all right, Harold?”

Harry shrugs, turning to make sure he’s got things put away - the last of the liquor back into the freezer, the remaining few snacks put away. How the cheese and crackers made it to the end, he has no idea, but it gives him something to do now.

“Are you - were you going home now, then?” Harry asks.

Nick seems surprised, at that. It takes him a moment to recover and answer. “I can if you’d like.”

“What were you going to do instead?”

“Thought I’d stay here,” Nick says. “Unless you want -”

“No, no, that’s - that’d be nice,” Harry says. “If you want. You don’t have to, though! You can go, don’t worry, just, I don’t mind if you don’t go, either.”

“We’re both idiots,” Nick declares, which at least gets Harry to stare at him.

“What?”

Nick’s smile is offputtingly soft, wrinkling the corners of his eyes. “Come on, I haven’t even seen your room.”

Harry ducks his head, smiling. Tossing the dish rag aside, he reaches for Nick’s hand, then turns to lead him to his room. “It’s nothing special.”

“Well, it’s where you sleep. Can’t be too bad,” Nick says.

Harry hadn’t thought to clean his room, is the thing. He thought the party would last a lot later, and hadn’t really thought as far ahead as taking a mostly-sober Nick back to bed with him. His heart’s racing like it might successfully escape if it can just go fast enough, and his cheeks are hot.

When he squeezes NIck’s hand, Nick squeezes back.

There’s dirty clothes over the back of his chair, and his bed’s unmade. He has posters of obscure bands, from the UK and New York, taped haphazardly to his walls, unframed, and a few pictures of his family up above his desk, which is littered with his textbooks and his poor, abused laptop.

“It’s nice,” Nick says.

Harry laughs. “Is not.” He drops Nick’s hand, stepping back into his room. With a deep breath, he shucks off his shirt. “Nice enough, though, I guess. I shouldn’t tell you it’s awful, that’d be self-defeating, right?”

“Got your shirt off already.” NIck shakes his head, smiling. “Yeah, no, it’s cozy. Very lived in.”

“Your room’s nicer.”

“We are not,” Nick says, advancing, backing Harry toward his bed, “going all the way to my place now.”

"Right, right, I was just -" Harry starts, muscles gone tense with sudden nerves.

"Oh my god, shut up!" Nick's still-sweet smile takes on a predatory edge, and he pounces, knocking Harry back onto the bed and play-biting at his neck.

Harry can't help but laugh, and tries to wriggle away, or get the upper hand or something, pushing uselessly at Nick then giving up on that strategy in favor of dragging him in for a kiss.

Sort of a kiss, anyway. They're both giggling, and Harry manages to hit his nose against Nick's way too hard, and when he thinks they've almost sorted it they manage to knock their teeth together way too hard instead.

Harry feels all loose-limbed and cheerful, now, because despite how the rest of the night went - not even that badly! - this is fun. He stretches his legs out, shifting to get more comfortable while Nick leers down at him, waggling his eyebrows.

Right then, Harry thinks he could fall for Nick, probably, that he may even be partway there already even though they haven't known each other that long. The scariest part is that he doesn't think he minds.

He yawns, though, while Nick's distracted kissing at his jaw. He's still got a bit of a buzz, but just enough that he feels tired rather than maudlin or crazy.

"Nick," Harry mumbled, raising a hand to stroke at the back of Nick's head. Nick lifts his head to regard him seriously. "You wanna just do this in the morning?"

"Probably," Nick says. "As long as I'm not too hungover. I can't guarantee that."

"No one can." Harry yawns again, turning away but not bothering to cover his mouth. "God, sorry, I must seem so boring -"

"Not really, and I won't hear a word of it."

Harry's used to being called boring. He isn't great at conversation. His stories are boring. He's a bit awkward, sometimes; luckily, most people find that cute, but he's definitely known others to get tired of it, like they suspect he's having a go, purposely being a little uncomfortable and strange.

He's not, but it's still surprising and reassuring to hear someone say it, especially someone he's gotten accidentally invested in.

“C’mere, get your shirt off,” Harry says, tugging at it preemptively before Nick has a chance to react. Nick rolls his eyes, but he sits back and lifts his arms and lets Harry get his shirt the rest of the way off.

Nick rolls off him for a second so he can drag his trousers off, and Harry figures he may as well get his own jeans off in the process. They catch at his legs, almost get caught around his calves, and he has to yank at them.

Nick raises his eyebrows.

“Price of fashion,” Harry sighs, shaking his head. “Sometimes I think I should give up on skinny jeans, but I like ‘em too much.”

“You ridiculous little ...” Nick starts, shaking his head fondly. “Well, they look good, at least. Emphasize that lovely figure of yours.” He gets a hand on Harry’s thigh, digging his fingers in.

Harry laughs, looking away. He’s usually not this shy, but Nick gets him flustered and happy, and it’s weird, is all. “Oh, fuck off.”

Nick leans in, his pupils blown huge, eyes darker than usual. He’s got his nose right against Harry’s, and Harry nearly goes cross-eyed looking at him. “Thought we were waiting for tomorrow?”

“I guess I could make an exception,” Harry breathes, as Nick’s hand creeps from his thigh to his crotch.

This time, they don’t knock their noses together, or end up with an awkward clash of teeth. Instead, Harry opens his mouth easy for Nick’s tongue, and Nick works his hand down inside his pants, getting a solid hold on Harry.

Nick’s got such big hands, and he’s confident, and Harry’s really, really glad they hook up semi-regularly now. He can’t think of anyone he’d rather have in his bed right now, though the fact that Nick’s jerking him off may be hindering his thought process slightly. 

Harry bends his leg so he can press his foot down against the mattress, taking short, sharp breaths through his nose. He can’t decide what to do with his hands. For a moment, he fists them up in the sheets, then decides he’d rather touch Nick, briefly tangling his fingers in Nick’s hair before deciding he’d rather feel down the line of Nick’s back.

His other hand lays uselessly at his side, until he gets the idea to jerk Nick off, too, trying to match the pace Nick’s set. Nick huffs out a laugh, and offers up a crinkly-eyed smile, pressing light, restless little kisses across Harry’s face, down his jawline.

Harry wants to keep doing this. Not just now - though obviously he’d prefer not to stop - but in the future, too; he wants to have Nick over, even on days that aren’t awful, wants them to fall into bed together like this and each work out what the other likes.

Despite the relative failure of the party, Harry still managed to have a nice time. Getting ready was fun, after all, and even waiting around for people to show up was kind of nice. Harry doesn’t spend enough quiet nights in like that. Sometimes he will with Zayn, but it’s different, somehow.

Possibly because him and Zayn don’t end up giggling and breathless and sweaty in bed jerking each other off. Harry’s not even sure what Nick’s so amused about. Harry curls his upper lip in a terrible attempt at a snarl, which just makes Nick laugh more, and Harry turns his head aside, squeezing his eyes shut tight. He can’t keep himself from grinning, not that he especially wants to.

Nick shifts his grip on Harry’s dick, tightening his hold a little, and Harry chokes on a breath. His chest feels tight, and he presses the side of his face against the mattress, sort of panting now, and still smiling despite himself.

There’s this strange little tingle that runs down his scalp, and he curls his toes in anticipation just before he comes into Nick’s hand. His own coordination’s shot for a moment, and he lets his own hand loosen and still. After a moment, he gets his act together, and pulls Nick the rest of the way through.

Nick’s come splashes hot against Harry’s stomach. Harry turns his head, opening his eyes so he can watch Nick. Nick’s got his head bowed, mouth open slightly, his usually-lofty fringe hanging in his face.

Harry reaches up to brush it back out of the way, then lets his fingertips rest lightly against NIck’s cheek.

Nick yawns, and rolls off Harry, lying on his side next to him instead, watching him sleepily now. “That all right, teacup?”

“Thought you’d stopped calling me that.”

Nick draws his head back, but doesn’t move much otherwise. His eyes widen dramatically. “Never!”

Harry groans, letting his head drop back to the mattress before wiggling a bit to try and find a more comfortable position. He ends up on top of Nick, with no particular goal in mind other than seeing just how long he can stare at NIck without Nick getting too creeped out.

“What are you doing?” Nick eventually asks.

Harry keeps staring, eyes gone wide, nostrils flared. He’s trying not to blink, but that proves too difficult, making his eyes dry, and he ends up beaming down at Nick instead. “I just like looking at you. Or is that a crime now?”

“Yeah. Look at you, accidentally starting international incidents. And you used to be so innocent.” Nick sighs heavily, lying on his back. He rests his hands behind his head, giving Harry a stare at least as intense as the one Harry just gave him.

“Fuck off,” Harry says. “You want something to eat?”

“I thought you wanted to sleep. Can we just sleep?”

“I woke up!”

“Awful, just awful,” Nick says. He twists under Harry, flops onto his stomach and hides his head in his arms. When he speaks again, his voice is muffled. “I’m going to sleep.”

Harry grins at him, and gets up.

“Where you going, then?” Nick asks, daring to raise his head for a moment, looking with one eye that’s only half open.

“I at least wanted to clean up a bit,” Harry says, swiping a hand across his stomach. “You came on me!”

“Who cares, go to bed.”

“I’ll be back,” Harry says, and stays true to his word. He spends a little while in the bathroom, staring himself down in the mirror, trying to see if something’s changed. Nothing has. He feels different, is all.

He ends up standing in the doorway a while, too, watching Nick. Nick appears to have gone to sleep during Harry’s absence.

There are all kinds of cliches about how people look when they’re asleep, ones Harry’s run into in books, where there’s an innocence or youthfulness revealed, a vulnerability. Nick doesn’t really look any younger or more vulnerable.

He just looks asleep. His eyes are shut, he’s relaxed. That’s it, and yet Harry still finds himself staring entirely too long in the dim half-light of his room, which never gets all the way dark because of all the streetlights.

Eventually, even Harry feels tired, so he tiptoes his way over to the bed, shutting the door behind him. He crawls into bed behind Nick, curling up next to him.

Feeling daring, he tries putting an arm around Nick’s waist. For a moment, Nick stirs, and Harry worries he’s woken him, but all Nick does is sort of snuffle and press his face into the pillow. Harry smiles, leaning in to nuzzle at Nick’s hair, shutting his eyes.

Nick smell nice, still, despite the sweat and stink of sex about him - his hair, at least, still smells very faintly of whatever shampoo and conditioner and hair products he uses, and Harry thinks he can detect a touch of cologne. This late in the day, it’s hard to tell. 

Probably obsessing over Nick’s smell is weird, but Harry is sleepy and doesn’t much care.

Besides, he stops thinking about it when he falls asleep.

-

When he wakes up, Nick is still there. Nick’s up first, lying on his side facing Harry, one hand under his cheek as he watches.

Harry opens his eyes slowly, and turns slightly aside to yawn. “Morning, Grimmy.”

“Hiya, teacup.”

Harry wrinkles his brow, nose scrunching up with it. “Why are you so obsessed with calling me that?”

“Because it’s cute, and you make funny faces when I do,” Nick says, sounding quite smug, though his voice is a bit rough with sleep still. 

Harry rubs the grit from the corner of one eye, watching Nick, slowly getting his thoughts together. “You’re still here.”

“Don’t have anywhere else to be.”

“You want to shower and get breakfast?”

Nick chuckles, low. “You in a hurry?”

“Nah.” Stretching his arms and legs in opposite directions, Harry lets his eyes close for a moment, then opens them again because he wants to keep looking at Nick. He’s a little selfish, and it’s kind of nice, waking up next to someone. Harry hasn’t done that very often. It’s a good change of pace.

He could get used to it, too, waking up next to someone. Admittedly, that someone is Nick in particular. Harry thinks he may have something of a problem, in that he doesn’t want to sleep with anyone other than Nick these days, and doesn’t like the notion of Nick sleeping with anyone else, either.

Still half-asleep, he says, “You sleeping with anyone?”

“What?” Nick laughs. “I just did, didn’t I?”

Harry pauses. “Besides me.”

“What’s it matter? Do you like me?” Nick drawls.

“You’re well fit,” Harry says, a little grumpy now at being put on the spot. He sits up, then changes his mind, twisting around so he can push Nick onto his back and lean over him. “Not my fault you’re handsome. I’m just curious, is all.”

“Curious. Right.” Nick’s smile spreads wide, and he lets his eyes drift halfway shut as he watches Harry. “I think you fancy me.”

“Wouldn’t sleep with you if I didn’t at least a little bit,” Harry allows, looking aside. He thinks for a moment, then ducks his head to mouth at Nick’s throat. “S’nothing, though, never mind.”

“I wouldn’t mind it if you asked me, you know.”

“Asked you what?”

“Hmm,” Nick says. “I wonder.”

Harry could take the bait. It’d be easy, and not even his fault if he accidentally got into a relationship with Nick right here and now, but - he scrapes his teeth against delicate skin, then bites down, lightly.

Nick makes a sound halfway between a sigh and a laugh, and Harry kisses down the bite at his collarbone instead, going in with the intent to bruise.

“Harry,” Nick says, quiet.

Harry doesn’t allow himself to be stayed, though he’s tempted. Admitting how much he likes Nick seems an awfully vulnerable prospect, though. Never mind it seems Nick quite likes him as well, there’s always the chance it’s Harry who’s more invested, that he’ll end up boring Nick like he bores nearly everyone else.

Possibly it’s letting himself be swayed by his insecurities that’s making people think he’s boring. He could give it a go. Last time he avoided telling someone he was interested, they ended up going off and finding someone else, and Harry still gets caught up in what-ifs now and again, when it’s late and dark and he’s alone.

He hasn’t thought of it lately. He sighs, resting his head against Nick’s chest.

Finally, he says, “I actually, this’s stupid, probably, but I really like you. Like, even though I hardly know you, I mean.”

“Aw, teacup, there,” Nick says. “Was that so difficult?”

Harry raises a hand, without looking, and flips Nick off. Nick just laughs. “Fuck off, it was!”

“Yeah,” Nick says. “Yeah, I know. You’re all right, though, yeah? World didn’t end or anything.”

“No.” Harry turns his head, then sits up again, hunched over Nick, feeling both hunted and predatory at once, trapped between the two states. “So you like me, then? That why you’re asking?”

“I could do,” Nick says. “You’re awfully young -”

“Not that young!”

“And I’m going to guess you’re as rubbish at relationships as I am, but if you want to give it a go ...” Nick trails off, grinning.”

“You’re a right twat,” Harry decides, and then decides he’s had about enough talk, and he’d like to try blowing Nick again. It seems a viable alternative to the conversation they’re having, though he does say, before he ducks down, “But yeah, fine, all right, you want to be - boyfriends or something, that’s all right, I guess.”

“We’re awful,” Nick says, laughing - though he stops, still grinning, when Harry pushes his legs open, settling between them awkwardly. He scoots back on the bed a little, sitting up to make more room for Harry, since the bed isn’t all that large - Harry didn’t want to spend a lot, especially since he’s only here four years, give or take, and has no clue whether he’ll be in the same apartment the whole time. “Oh, that’s not awful, though.”

“I hope not,” Harry says. He really hopes not, actually. He’s only done this a few times now, but he’s got enthusiasm, and thinks he’s learned better already. “Practice makes perfect?”


End file.
